The  Heart's  Justice 
Amanda  Sail 


The  Heart's  Justice 

BY 

Amanda  Hall 

Author  of  "Blind  Wisdom,"  "The  Little  Red 
House  in  the  Hollow/'  etc. 


New  H         York 
George  H.  Doran  Company 


Copyright,  IQ22, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


THE  HEART'S  JUSTICE.  II 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


The  Heart's  Justice 


2136165 


THE  HEART'S  JUSTICE 


Chapter  I 

ROLF  STERLING  had  motored  out  from  Wedge- 
water  on  a  little  matter  of  business.  As  it  was 
the  end  of  the  day  the  sun  too  was  traveling  in 
that  westerly  direction,  but  Sterling  accepted  the  illus- 
trious companionship  as  a  part  of  the  glamor  that  al- 
ways attended  him.  He  had  been  busied  in  the  factory 
all  day;  the  sun  had  been  busied  in  the  town.  Now 
they  jogged  along  together.  The  asphalt  road  shone  in 
the  oblique  light.  It  skirted  the  harbor  where  the  wa- 
ter was  lively  and  the  boats,  flippant  at  their  moorings, 
maintained  a  false  brilliancy. 

The  semi-suburban  street  with  its  ordinary  houses  and 
obvious  shops,  thinning  for  lack  of  enthusiasm,  was 
generously  interpreted  by  the  glow.  But  Sterling  never 
rode  for  esthetic  pleasure.  In  all  probability  he  would 
find  old  David  Harlow  just  getting  home  at  this  hour 
and  what  he  had  to  say  to  him  would  be  more  kindly 
said  outside  the  factory.  "When  kindness  did  not  im- 
pair his  efficiency  he  aimed  always  to  be  kind !  From 
which  it  may  be  inferred  that  Rolf  Sterling  took  his 
mission  in  life  without  a  grain  of  salt.  It  was  the  busi- 
ness of  a  man  "up  from  nowhere"  to  keep  his  head 
screwed  on  tight. 

In  type  Sterling  was  the  sort  of  man  commonly  re- 

7 


8  The  Heart's  Justice 

ferred  to  as  "a  splendid  specimen."  Other  adjectives 
made  to  shade  themselves  about  him  were  "clean," 
"honest,"  and  "efficient."  The  last  fitted  like  a  jacket. 
He  was  amply  contrived  and  largely  efficient.  With- 
out a  pound  of  excess  flesh  he  sustained  the  impres- 
sion of  immensity.  His  shoulders  were  the  most  primi- 
tive things  about  him:  he  dressed  them  well  but  they 
wanted  to  be  bare.  .  .  .  His  head  was  well-joined;  he 
carried  it  with  entire  self-respect  and  turned  it  with- 
out lowering  or  disarranging  its  poise.  The  low  brow 
was  thoughtful,  rather  than  mental.  When,  at  infre- 
quent times,  there  came  a  lull  in  the  activity  of  his  busi- 
ness brain  and  he  was  driven  back  into  himself  it  was 
as  though  he  stood  helpless  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger. 
The  blue  eyes  were  colored  cold  by  dreams  of  progress ; 
had  they  ever  dreamed  love,  their  color  must  have 
changed. 

Formidable  in  his  knowledge  of  human  machinery, 
pitiful  in  his  own  vast  ignorance  of  self,  he  was  the 
amalgamation  of  two  minerals,  parental  crudeness  and 
maternal  intellect.  His  mother  had  been  the  serious 
servant  of  a  cold,  Christian  family  that  had  adopted 
her  from  an  orphanage  and  impressed  upon  her  their 
philanthropy.  She  was  as  thoroughly  educated  as  she 
was  thoroughly  suppressed,  at  once  equipped  and  in- 
hibited. Certainly  her  natural  refinement  entitled  her 
to  recognition  in  polite  society,  and  it  was  the  quintes- 
sence of  cruelty  that  she  should  be  made  to  feel  her  de- 
pendence an  insurmountable  barrier.  After  a  vain  ef- 
fort to  identify  herself  with  the  plane  above  or  the 
plane  below,  the  poor  creature  had  fallen  between  two 
stools  and  married  a  hardy  Norwegian,  one  flung  into 
the  fishing  town  from  a  foreign  sloop,  neither  quite  a 
sailor  nor  quite  a  gentleman.  He  was  convalescing 


The  Heart's  Justice  9 

from  an  illness  at  sea,  and  when  his  health  was  re- 
stored, seemed  disinclined  to  return  to  his  own  coun- 
try and  the  fishing  interests  which  had  hitherto  oc- 
cupied him.  He  set  up  a  ship  chandler's  shop  in 
Wedgewater  and,  with  his  wife  and  boy,  fared  thrift- 
ily till  death  overtook  him  from  a  cut  with  a  rusty 
nail. 

Rolf  and  his  mother,  jumbled  a  little  closer,  were 
free  of  his  brooding,  exacting  presence,  yet  more  curi- 
ously confused  by  life  than  before.  Her  Madonna 
eyes  stared  into  the  future  and  found  it  as  difficult 
to  decipher  as  the  past  had  been.  The  influence  of 
her  early  training  survived  and  she  sent  Rolf  to  school, 
she  forced  him  to  learn  when  he  was  as  healthily  indif- 
ferent as  an  animal;  she  succeeded  in  quickening  that 
embedded  spark  which  was  to  generate  his  later  energy. 
She  loved  him  always  with  a  pain  at  her  heart  since 
she  found  him  a  stranger,  as  her  husband  had  been,  not 
a  boy  one  could  caress.  He  had  none  of  the  sweet  ways 
of  American  lads.  He  was  inscrutable  with  a  cold 
northern  doggedness.  His  very  looks,  unrelated  to  her 
own,  affected  her  oddly, — the  arctic-blue  eyes  remote 
in  their  vision,  his  hair  of  a  dazzling  gold  like  the  sun 
on  an  iceberg !  She  doubted  if  he  loved  her,  if  his  de- 
votion was  more  than  unthinking ;  home  was  where  his 
clothes  were  mended  and  his  meals  prepared.  But  once 
in  an  appalling  dispute  about  family  with  two  big  boys 
in  school  he  learned  that  his  mother  had  been  a  serv- 
ant, his  delicate,  hovering  mother.  "Hired  girl!" 
shrilled  his  tormentor,  but  the  next  instant  his  words 
shot  back  down  his  throat.  Rolf's  fist  smashed  into 
his  jaw  and  broke  it.  But  even  the  fist-blow  was  not  so 
terrible  as  his  sobbing  indictment. 

"You  liar!" 


io  The  Heart's  Justice 

There  was  a  to-do,  an  arrest,  and, 

"But  he  did  lie  ?"  appealed  Rolf  to  his  mother,  his 
mother  with  all  the  starch  out  of  her,  come  to  defend 
her  boy. 

"'No,  no,  I  did  work.  I  worked  for  the  family  that 
brought  me  up,"  she  humbled  her  pride  honestly. 

"But  he  lied  all  the  same,"  cried  the  boy  with  the 
first  flash  of  acute  perception.  "They  couldn't  make 
a  'hired  girl'  out  of  you." 

After  that  Rolf  had  seen  her  with  silent,  savage 
devotion  to  her  grave.  In  the  years  between  lay  re- 
lentless effort,  and  the  slow  sun-burst  of  success. 

As  the  opulent  roadster  condescended  through  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  his  mind  was  occupied  with  such 
practical  speculations  as  the  cost  of  paving,  lighting,  ex- 
tending the  sewer  system.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  could 
have  gone  to  Heaven  without  a  try  for  the  civic  improve- 
ment of  the  Golden  City.  Occasionally  the  sun  got 
in  his  way.  But  presently  he  came  to  the  house  of 
David  Harlow,  recognizable  from  the  description  he  had 
received  of  it.  David  Harlow  occupied  what  was  al- 
most a  pension  position  in  the  Ship  and  Engine  Fac- 
tory of  which  Sterling  was  the  manager,  and  rumor 
laughed  resentfully  at  his  pose  of  a  lonely  aristocrat. 
"Him  an'  his  daughter,  they  think  they're  God!"  was 
the  current  sneer.  Rumor  said  he  had  "tinkered"- 
that  was  always  the  word  to  carry  a  cargo  of  ridicule 
in  its  hold — he  had  "tinkered  away"  at  some  invention 
or  other  for  fifteen  odd  years.  And  one  last  damna- 
tory thing  they  found  to  say  of  him;  they  said  with 
blasting  charity  that  he  was  "harmless." 

Sterling,  swinging  from  the  car  before  the  tarnished 
gray  house,  sequestered  in  its  rank  setting,  mechanically 
appraised  it.  Dull  as  old  pewter,  it  took  its  time  in  an 


The  Heart's  Justice  1 1 

ungroomed  field  of  sumach  and  asters  and  little,  ac- 
cidental landscape  trees.  The  month  was  October,  the 
long  grass  bitten  gray  by  frost.  Like  a  timid  child 
with  its  mother  the  house  clung  to  the  skirts  of  the  wood. 
Yellow  leaves  had  fallen  about  it,  lending  an  impres- 
sion of  festivity,  like  confetti  at  a  wedding.  The  ruin- 
ing color  of  the  field,  the  blue  ravel  of  smoke  from 
the  chimney  above  the  high  gabled  roof,  the  weathered 
gray  of  the  shingles,  spoke  of  beauty  in  exile.  But 
Sterling  was  resistant.  Because  he  knew  something  of 
the  tradition  of  the  Harlow  family  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  shocked  in  a  vulgar  way.  On  this  pilgrimage 
from  the  gate  to  the  door  he  had  mentally  mowed  the 
lawn,  reshingled  the  house,  substituted  plate  glass  for 
the  small,  bleary  window-panes  and  given  moral  sup- 
port to  a  discouraged  roof.  He  supposed  they  simply 
did  not  care  or  had  not  the  means.  This  landslide  of 
old  families  riled  his  contempt,  since  he  belonged  to  the 
new  families  going  up  in  roped  procession  like  tour- 
ists on  an  Alpine  peak. 

But  the  brass  knocker  on  the  door,  ardently  polished, 
winked  out  like  a  rebuff.  It  made  him  almost  eat  his 
premature  conclusions.  The  sunset  had  found  all  the 
little  old-fashioned  panes  of  glass  and  set  up  a  conflag- 
ration, as  though  the  house  was  lighted  by  a  hundred 
candles  within.  Sterling  lifted  the  knocker  and  reg- 
istered his  personality  once  and  for  all  with  a  clear, 
uncompromising  rap.  The  act  accomplished,  he  in- 
voluntarily put  on  his  appearance.  He  did  this  as  de- 
liberately as  a  man  dons  a  rain-coat  before  a  storm. 
He  was  not  made  for  the  amenities.  It  meant  each 
time  a  calculated  effort,  but  one  to  which  he  was  equal. 
It  was  only  another  of  the  things  he  had  had  to  learn. 


12  The  Heart's  Justice 

He  had  observed  his  fellow  climbers  on  the  Alpine  peak. 
He  could  summon  a  smile  that  was  even  captivating. 

But  he  could  not  be  kept  waiting,  though  he  should 
have  known  that  it  was  the  kind  of  house  where  one 
would  be  expected  to.  The  second  time  he  added  a 
thought  of  briskness  to  his  importunity.  This  sec- 
ond rap  said,  still  with  admirable  good  humor,  tem- 
pered by  testiness, 

"Well,  well,  is  no  one  home?" 

It  threatened  remotely.  If  the  door  was  opened  now 
he  would  not  need  to  be  quite  so  genial.  But  the  door 
was  not  opened.  His  appearance  sagged,  underwent 
complete  rearrangement.  He  waited  solidly  another 
interval,  then  he  lifted  the  knocker  for  the  third  time. 
He  wondered  why  they  had  troubled  to  polish  it  since 
they  did  not  trouble  themselves  to  admit  callers.  This 
time  he  censured  them. 

Steps  scurried,  there  was  a  breathless  interchange 
of  words  within.  Then  the  door,  a  warped  and  diffi- 
cult one,  was  reasoned  with.  A  colored  servant,  the 
shiny  surfaces  of  whose  face  served  alone  to  distin- 
guish her  from  the  background,  was  revealed.  She  was 
trussed  with  a  starchy  apron,  polished  off  with  a  frilled 
cap.  Her  mahogany  face  was  pursed  with  inquiry.  But 
when  she  saw  that  the  caller  wore  a  fashionable  suit 
of  gray  plaid  she  believed  in  him  at  once. 

"Good  eben,"  she  bobbed  for  gentry.  "Sorry,  Suh,  to 
hab  kep'  you  waitin' !" 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Sterling.  "Is  Mr.  Harlow 
at  home?" 

With  distended,  rueful  lips,  she  shook  her  head. 

"No,  Suh,  he  haben't  come.  But  he's  expected  im- 
mejet,"  she  added  with  ostentation.  "We  been  lookin' 
for  him  steddy  this  half  hour,  Yassir."  As  she  spokr> 


The  Heart's  Justice  13 

she  leaned  forward  from  her  waist,  and  her  eyes  popped 
along  the  strip  of  road,  now  dusted  with  twilight 
"Would  you  be  please  to  wait  ?" 

"Thanks,  yes,  if  you  think  he  will  not  be  long." 

He  stepped  bare-headed  across  the  threshold  and  was 
enveloped  by  the  personal  dusk  of  the  house,  home  dusk, 
a  thing  remote  from  the  dusk  out  of  doors.  Even  if 
you  cannot  see  you  are  confident.  There  are  fires 
here;  people  have  been  living  and  speaking  to  one  an- 
other all  day  and  the  intimate  inconsequence  of  their 
remarks  seems  caught  in  the  air.  The  negro  woman 
closed  the  door,  whereupon  her  condescension  was  pal- 
pable and  amusing.  She  waddled  beside  him,  adroitly 
steering,  till  he  divined  a  living  room,  as  dim  as  the 
hall.  Then, 

"Miss  Muffet,"  she  flourished  announcement  to  some 
one  as  yet  invisible,  "a  gumpman  to  see  yo'  father.  Ase 
gwan  fetch  de  lamp !" 

His  eyes  accommodating  themselves  to  the  dusk,  Ster- 
ling saw  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  young  woman 
of  medium  height.  She  had  risen  upon  his  entrance 
and  now  stood  pressed  close  against  the  mantelpiece,  a 
withdrawn,  unfriendly  figure. 

"Good  evening,"  he  said,  hesitantly.  His  voice  came 
out  with  crude  quality  against  her  silence. 

She  gave  a  slight,  grave  inclination  of  the  head;  if 
any  words  were  uttered  he  did  not  hear  them,  but  he 
felt  that  her  eyes  were  leveled  upon  him  with  a  remote 
calculation.  Sterling  was  not  adept  at  meeting  people 
the  whole  way,  but  he  made  a  proper  effort  at  ingratia- 
tion. 

"I  hope  I  am  not  disturbing  you.  I  am  Kolf  Ster- 
ling. I  called  to  see  Mr.  Harlow." 

After  this  establishment,  he  waited.     The  silence 


14  The  Heart's  Justice 

gave  to  an  elastic  length.  Then  her  unhurried  voice 
said  across  the  abyss, 

'Won't  you  sit?" 

"Thanks." 

He  felt  terribly  constrained.  He  sat,  after  she  had 
done  so,  hemmed  in  by  the  discomforting  quiet.  The 
log  on  the  fire  shot  forth  a  baby  rocket  and  showed 
her  foot  quietly  extended.  He  took  it  for  granted  that 
she  was  Harlow's  daughter,  a  princess  in  outlawry,  and 
he  was  right.  But  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not 
diagnose  her  manner.  It  was  not  exactly  forbidding — 
but  she  was  so  still,  so  remotely  still.  The  people  he 
had  met  socially  were  "good  at  small  talk."  When  sil- 
ence closed  down  they  fluttered  and  beat  against  it  has- 
tily with  words.  Yet  here  was  one  of  manifest  breed- 
ing who  could  sit  with  composure  through  the  vacuous 
minutes.  He  recalled  what  he  had  heard  of  them — 
"Him  an'  her,  they  think  they're  God."  Could  her 
silence  be  construed  as  snobbery  ?  He  wondered.  Yet 
he  told  himself,  bridling,  that  men  of  affairs  did  not 
call  every  day  at  that  house  off  the  main  road — the 
inmates  should  be  flattered  to  have  their  privacy  in- 
vaded. And  he  had  about  him  always  the  conscious- 
ness of  sweeping  health,  good  clothes,  success,  as  tonic 
to  the  impecunious  as  a  cold  plunge  to  the  weak-fibered. 
He  entered  like  a  great  draught.  But  perhaps  this  was 
a  house  where  only  the  softest  breezes  might  insinuate. 

After  several  clumsy  throat-clearings,  Sterling  re- 
laxed, bent  upon  proving  that  he  too  could  wallow  in 
silence  up  to  his  neck  and  be  not  one  whit  disconcerted. 
But,  secretly,  of  course,  he  was  glad  when  the  negro 
woman  returned  bearing  a  lamp  in  full  bloom,  and  the 
half-tones  were  eliminated,  though  there  was  something 
startling  in  the  revelation.  He  blue-penciled  his  im- 


The  Heart's  Justice  15 

pressions.  The  person  called  "Miss  Muffet"  was  younger 
than  her  manner  would  have  led  him  to  believe.  She 
might  have  been  twenty,  though  he  put  her  at  twenty- 
five,  a  compact  girl  with  a  negligent  kind  -of  grace. 
Sterling  divined  that  her  reserve  was  something  very 
different  from  self -consciousness.  Of  the  latter  she  had 
not  a  trace.  Her  eyes  were  not  large,  but  beautiful  in 
coloring,  red-brown,  like  the  centers  of  yellow  daisies. 
They  suggested  the  eyes  of  an  animal,  limpid  but  with- 
holding, and  were  set  beneath  lashes  so  thick  and 
curly  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  double  row  of  them.  Her 
nose  was  short  with  possibilities  of  laughter,  her  sad 
mouth  enclosed  a  gleam. 

And  then  there  was  the  room  backgrounding  her  with 
consistent  charm.  It  represented  to  Sterling  an  ease 
and  sufficiency  rather  baffling,  since  mere  money  could 
not  attain  it.  The  rugs  were  worn  and  the  furniture 
battered,  but  the  lines  of  Heppelwhite  and  Chippendale 
remained  incorruptible.  There  was  nothing  meaning- 
less or  without  grace  in  that  interior.  It  had  evolved 
through  years  of  culture  and  quiet  living,  without  ever 
pandering  meanly  to  the  dictates  of  fashion.  The 
whimsicality  of  the  old  samplers  and  the  silhouettes  on 
the  wall  survived  in  harmony  with  the  files  of  modern 
magazines  on  the  table,  the  books  and  flowers.  Under 
the  lamp  was  a  tray  of  pipes ;  near  by  blazed  a  bowl  of 
calendula.  Sterling  was  unaccountably  humbled.  This 
was  the  way  an  obscure  employee  lived,  David  Harlow, 
known  as  "dry-rot."  He  thought  of  his  own  rooms, 
loud  with  electricity  and  obvious  luxuries,  and  was  un- 
certain. 

As  though  the  coming  of  the  lamp  had  imposed  obli- 
gations, had  set  them,  willy-nilly,  on  a  stage  where  they 


16  The  Heart's  Justice 

must  perform,  Miss  Harlow  looked  at  Sterling  and 
said, 

"I  think  he  won't  be  long  now.  Thank  you,  Vannie, 
that  is  better." 

She  had  risen  to  adjust  the  wick,  and  he  offered, 

"May  I  help  you?     Sometimes  they  stick." 

He  spoke  as  if  every  one  were  commonly  wrestling 
with  wicks,  when  in  reality  it  seemed  to  him  the  most 
antiquated  notion,  the  quaintest  conceit.  It  took  him 
back  to  his  boyhood,  to  a  small  room  on  the  bay  front 
and  his  mother  darning  by  a  kerosene  lamp  while  he 
sweated  at  his  sums.  As  they  bent  over  the  lamp  her 
cinnamon-brown  hair  touched  his  cheek  and  it  felt  furry 
and  strong.  He  wondered  if  her  eyelashes  would  feel 
the  same  way.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  shivered  fas- 
tidiously, that,  through  her  sensitized  hair,  she  had 
been  made  aware  of  the  contact.  He  became  warmly 
self-conscious.  He  wondered  what  she  was  thinking  of 
him,  if  she  found  him  clumsy  and  commonplace.  What 
she  thought  was  that  he  was  quite  fine-looking  in  a 
healthy,  middle-class  way;  when  he  turned  his  head 
at  a  certain  angle  the  light  struck  his  glasses  and,  blot- 
ting out  the  clear,  blue  eyes,  made  him  appear  abstract 
— a  mere  repository  of  brains  and  vigor. 

Some  trivial  words  had  been  exchanged  during  the 
adjustment  of  the  wick,  informality  was  on  its  way 
when  the  colored  servant  intervened. 

"Miss  Muffet,  would  you  kin'ly  gib  me  yo'  attention 
'bout  de  dinner?"  she  besought  audience,  and  with  a 
little,  apologetic  smile  Miss  Harlow  rose  to  follow  her. 

But  as  their  decorum  led  them  no  farther  than  the 
door,  Sterling  could  still  watch  and  admire  her  while 
the  conference  was  taking  place. 

"Yo'  done  tell  me  to  make  de  chicken  fricassee," 


The  Heart's  Justice  17 

complained  Vannie,  "but  yo'  doan  eber  mention  what 
vegetables  to  hab  with  it.  Ah  been  steddyin'  over  it  all 
afternoon,  an'  not  rightly  knowin'  what  yo'  pa  might 
fancy  fo'  change  Ah  been'n'  boiled  turnip  an'  onion. 
Dey's  kind  o'  un-ordinary,  an'  dey's  nourishin'." 

The  face  of  the  girl  lost  its  well-bred  immobility,  be- 
came suddenly  a  parade-ground  for  feeling. 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that,  Vannie,"  she  told  her 
with  a  severity  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  offense.  "Oh, 
you  shouldn't  have  done  that !  It's  only  lately  Father 
can't  abide  onions,  and  he  thinks  turnip  is  the  most 
unimaginative  vegetable  there  is.  Now  you'll  have  to 
think  of  something  else  at  the  eleventh  hour." 

Vannie's  mouth  curved  down  leakily.  She  stood,  a 
crestfallen  creature  of  the  jungle,  her  long  hands  dang- 
ling almost  to  her  knees.  But  she  made  no  protest. 
The  two  were  soon  oblivious  of  the  outsider,  lost  in 
discussion  of  the  approaching  meal.  And  although 
Sterling  did  not  follow  the  thread  of  their  domestic 
reasoning,  he  was  conscious  of  the  word  "Father,"  ever 
recurring  like  a  refrain.  "Father  said  only  yesterday," 
"If  Father's  appetite  were  better,"  "Of  course,  Father," 
and  so  on,  ad  infinitum.  He  was  startled  to  reflect  that 
the  object  of  their  solicitude,  their  glamorous  devotion, 
was  the  dim  David  Harlow,  so  negligible  in  the  Ship 
and  Engine  Factory.  Here  he  lived  in  a  circle  of 
prestige,  a  splendid  spider  in  his  web,  cosily  substan- 
tiated on  every  side.  Sterling  was  deep  in  his  won- 
derment when  the  conversation  between  the  two  sud- 
denly snapped.  Vannie  went  back  to  the  kitchen  like 
a  general  with  a  new  plan  of  campaign,  and  Miss 
Marlow  remembered  her  caller  almost  brightly. 

"Our  genius — "  she  made  a  little  explanatory  ges- 
ture— "we  have  to  take  good  care  of  the  family  genius," 


1 8  The  Heart's  Justice 

and  as  though  the  thought  of  her  father  was  a  mellow- 
ing influence,  she  begged  prettily,  "I  hope  you  won't 
mind  us." 

The  first  flicker  of  a  smile  showed.  It  was  no  more 
than  an  inch  and  a  half  long,  and  disappeared  when 
Sterling  sought  to  snare  it  with  his  own.  Nevertheless 
the  fact  of  it  remained. 

"Father  isn't  really  delicate,"  she  explained  lightly. 
"It's  just  that  he's  a  perfect  child  about  taking  care  of 
himself.  And  you  know  how  women  have  to  mother 
their  men !" 

Sterling  did  not  know — most  unfortunately  he  did 
not  know — since  his  own  mother,  the  darning  and  the 
dinner  pails  were  too  far  behind  him.  But  he  nodded 
omnisciently.  His  thought  reverted  quickly,  anxiously 
to  his  own  meals,  served  with  impersonal  perfection  at 
an  hotel.  It  was  impossible  to  find  better  service  any- 
where. You  were  lucky  if  you  could  afford  to  live  at 
the  Mohawk.  But  his  brow  was  furrowed  with  the 
innocent  doubt  of  the  man  who  has  striven  for  success 
and  wants  to  be  quite  sure  he  has  really  gotten  the 
most  for  his  pains.  No  woman  waited  for  him  at  night- 
fall, weighing  the  merits  of  turnips  and  onions  on  the 
silver  scales  of  their  love. 

"Your  father,"  observed  Sterling  profoundly,  "is  not 
a  young  man.  I  daresay  he  comes  home  pretty  fagged." 

"He  comes  home  very  tired,"  she  sighed  ruefully. 
"It's  the  eternal,  hateful  grind  that  saps  his  life." 

"Is  his  work  uncongenial  ?" 

The  question  sounded  hot. 

"No,  it's  what  he's  always  been  accustomed  to.  But 
of  course  it's  a  routine  life,  it's  not  creative,  and  my 
father  is  preeminently  a  creator."  Her  spirit,  that  had 
held  aloof  from  her  eyes  like  one  in  ambush  behind  a 


The  Heart's  Justice  19 

window,  came  forward.  Her  voice  thrilled  with  pride. 
He  thought  that  her  faith  was  the  superstitious  faith 
of  a  child.  "Of  course,"  she  said,  "you  have  heard  that 
his  real  work  is  experimental.  His  workshop  is  there," 
and  she  showed  him  from  the  window  a  shed  that  the 
moon  had  just  begun  to  marvel  over.  "We  spend 
hours  there,  he  and  I,  for  he  likes  to  have  me  with  him. 
Of  course  I  can't  talk,  but  I  sit  and  sew  or  I  plan  what 
we  shall  do  with  all  the  money  we'll  have  when  my 
father's  ship  comes  in!"  Her  eyes  danced  merriment. 

"Your  faith  in  him,"  said  Sterling  ponderously, 
"must  be  a  great  help.  I  believe  I've  heard  that  he  is 
inventive,  but  I  don't  know  that  I've  been  informed 
what  it  is  he's  working  on  now." 

The  tone  was  respectful. 

"Oh,"  she  shook  her  head  happily,  "perhaps  I'll 
leave  him  to  tell  you  himself."  Then,  veering  to 
gravity,  "But  whatever  might  come  to  us  I  doubt  if  we 
could  be  as  contented  anywhere  as  we  are  in  this  dear 
old  house !" 

Sterling  was  incredulous.  It  was  charming,  cer- 
tainly, but  her  point  of  view  was  directly  opposed  to  his 
own.  One  progressed  in  the  scheme  of  things  like  the 
nautilus  outgrowing  its  shell.  Instinctively  he  glanced 
up  and  what  met  his  eyes  was  the  complete  discolora- 
tion of  the  ceiling,  a  cloudy  map  formed  by  the  seep, 
seep  of  many  rains.  So  this  was  the  house  she  could 
not  leave — the  moldering  old  ruin  where  her  genius 
housed  her — a  delicate  girl.  True,  she  showed  no 
signs  of  tender  health,  but  it  pleased  him  to  infer  that 
she  was  frail ;  it  gave  greater  scope  to  his  scorn.  The 
ceiling  would  fall  if  they  did  not  soon  reinforce  that 
beam.  And  why  were  these  draughts  allowed  to  play 
about  the  floor?  A  moment  ago  she  had  mesmerized 


20  The  Heart's  Justice 

Sterling  till  lie  was  almost  a  subscriber  to  her  cult, 
almost  ready  to  believe  that  he  had,  perhaps,  over- 
looked an  exceptional  man.  He  pulled  himself  out  of 
the  sentimental  slough  in  which  he  had  been  maun- 
dering. 

"I  have  come  for  the  purpose  of  having  a  little  talk 
with  your  father."  He  could  not  smother  the  note  of 
condescension.  "Of  course  you  know — er,  that  is,  I 
have  undertaken  the  management  of  the  factory  I" 

"Oh,  yes,"  her  voice  had  a  soft  maliciousness.  "I 
gathered  you  were  the  manager  when  you  knocked  at 
the  door.  Mr.  Moore  is  the  only  other  one  who  comes. 
He  taps  very  softly.  But  then,  of  course,  he  is  only  a 
foreman." 

her  guileless  eyes  turned  away  and  he  felt  his  collar 
tight. 


Chapter  II 


SHORTLY  after,  David  Harlow  entered.  Uncon- 
sciously Sterling  had  been  watching  for  him  as 
one  watches  for  a  stranger.  He  would  not  see 
him  now  as  he  had  seen  him  in  the  shop — he  would  see 
him  in  relation  to  the  house  and  its  inmates.  When  the 
outer  door  gave  Muffet  darted  into  the  hall,  her  fine 
dignity  shed  behind  her  like  the  crystal  slippers  of 
Cinderella  at  the  ball.  There  was  something  curiously 
ardent  yet  at  the  same  time  open  and  boyish  in  the  way 
she  flung  herself  upon  Harlow.  This  was  no  perfunc- 
tory greeting.  It  was  rather  the  outgrowth  of  keen 
and  hungry  love,  the  expression  of  hours  of  loneliness. 
Sterling  saw  the  daughter's  arms  close  about  her  father's 
neck  as  though  they  would  never  let  him  go,  her  eager 
lips  made  little  excursions  all  over  his  face.  Here  was 
a  thing  far  lovelier  than  sentimental  passion.  And  Har- 
low was  so  tender.  To  see  a  man  pottering  about  his 
drab  concerns  in  an  engine  factory  was  one  thing,  to 
see  him  in  his  role  of  father  was  another  and  very- 
different  matter.  The  scene  dragged  at  something  deep 
in  the  younger  man's  vitals,  a  reminder  of  an  emotion 
at  once  exquisite  and  troubling,  .  .  .  familiar.  Who 
can  hope  to  understand  that  dim  realm  of  the  subcon- 
scious, that  treasury  of  the  spiritual  where  nothing 
known  is  ever  lost  ? 

They  took  their  time  too,  and  no  little  luxury  of  en- 
joyment on  Muffet's  part  was  sacrificed  to  the  mention 

21 


22  The  Heart's  Justice 

of  the  waiting  caller.  Not  until  Harlow,  with  the  play- 
fulness of  a  great  dog,  had  shed  the  first  inundation  of 
her  talk  did  she  remember  him.  Then  David  was  seen 
to  set  her  aside.  His  psychology  altered.  Here  was 
the  shadow  of  the  shop  falling  across  his  threshold,  and 
the  man  who  cast  the  shadow  was  a  giant,  relatively 
speaking.  Harlow's  self-assurance  stammered.  He 
was  back  to  his  plodding  inconsequence,  unsure,  obse- 
quious. He  peered  into  the  room  where  Sterling  waited, 
then  with  a  rather  anxious  smile  came  forward  to  greet 
him. 

"Mr.  Sterling,  how  do  you  do,  Sir?"  The  deference 
of  the  "sir"  put  the  younger  man  miles  ahead  on  the 
road  of  affairs. 

It  was  natural  that  Sterling  looking  upon  Harlow  as 
a  detail  of  his  factory  had  never  noticed  him  particu- 
larly before.  But  to-day  all  his  perceptions  were  acute. 
The  decree  which  he  had  come  to  issue  was  impersonal 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned ;  he  had  looked  on  the  task 
as  disagreeable  but  one  which  he,  nevertheless,  had  every 
intention  of  performing.  In  the  face  of  the  older  man's 
cordiality  it  suddenly  loomed  colossal.  They  were 
shaking  hands  and  Sterling  felt  the  thrill  of  vital  com- 
munication which  is  established  the  first  time  one  places 
his  hand  in  that  of  another.  David's  hand,  in  spite  of 
his  years  of  hard  work,  was  a  slight-boned,  delicate  one. 
He  had  the  long,  sensitive  hands  usually  ascribed  to  the 
artist,  an  eye  in  every  finger-tip — in  reality  the  hand 
of  the  born  mechanic. 

He  was  of  medium  height,  but  his  well-knit  frame 
was  no  match  for  Sterling's  rigorous  brawn.  He  was 
slightly  bent  between  the  shoulders,  and  his  stooping 
seemed  the  moral  effect  of  disappointment.  The  abun- 
dant silver-gray  hair  that  flowed  back  from  his  fore- 


The  Heart's  Justice  23 

head  shone  like  a  radiation  from  his  head.  His  face, 
though  sallow  from  years  of  confinement,  was  ageless 
with  the  simplicity  of  the  dreamer's.  His  were  magi- 
cal eyes,  wise  as  the  eyes  of  children,  but  in  them  failure 
had  been  published.  The  mouth  with  its  litter  of 
wrinkles  at  either  side  must  have  been  the  registry  of 
many  emotions.  Laughter  had  made  it  as  tired  as 
sorrow,  yet  it  was  doomed  to  go  on  laughing — the  tragic 
comedian's  mouth.  Sterling  noted  his  democratic 
clothes  and  related  them  to  the  leak  in  the  roof.  But 
the  next  minute  Harlow  spoke  and  his  slow,  culti- 
vated utterance  marked  him  as  belonging  to  that  aris- 
tocracy "of  mind,  of  character,  of  will"  which  Ibsen  has 
proclaimed  as  the  only  one  of  true  validity. 

"This  is  a  surprise  and  a  pleasure,"  said  David 
Harlow  with  old-fashioned  formality.  "Sit  down,  Mr. 
Sterling,  sit  down!" 

"I  thought  you  would  recognize  my  car  outside," 
began  Sterling  for  lack  of  a  better  opening  and  went 
back  to  his  seat  by  the  fire. 

Muffet  had  followed  her  father  with  an  air  of  shy 
but  happy  possession  and  now  watched  Sterling  fur- 
tively with  her  ambushed  red-brown  eyes.  It  was  in- 
conceivable that  they  had  talked  together.  That  part 
of  her  duty  accomplished,  she  slumped  unselfconsciously 
on  the  arm  of  David's  chair.  She  might  make  it  very 
awkward  for  Sterling  by  remaining  altogether. 

"Yes,  yes,  oh,  yes,"  Harlow  nodded  vaguely,  "I  did 
see  a — a  kind  of  big  yellow  tom-cat  sprawling  in  the 
road  outside."  His  mouth  twisted  drolly  about  the 
words.  "But  I  didn't  think  of  it  as  being  yours.  INo 
one  keeps  a  car  long  enough  these  days  to  be  identified 
by  it.  I  thought  it  must  belong  to  some  hunters. 
There's  a  deal  of  partridge  shooting  along  the  road  this 


24  The  Heart's  Justice 

month  and  the  birds  are  plentiful  too.  They  tell  me 
the  breast-bone  is  cloudy  this  year  and  that  means  a 
stormy  winter." 

But  Sterling  had  not  come  to  discuss  the  breast-bones 
of  partridges. 

He  said  quickly,  "I  haven't  much  time  for  recre- 
ation." 

The  firelight  struck  his  glasses  and  made  him  seem 
all  polish  and  hard  bright  efficiency. 

"But  surely — "  began  Harlow. 

"Oh,  perhaps  I  shouldn't  say  that,"  he  amended, 
anxious  to  qualify  as  an  all-around  man,  "I  swim  every 
day  and  take  exercise  at  a  gymnasium.  And  then  I 
drive — I  drive  my  car  for  miles  and  miles  on  a  stretch 
whenever  I  have  anything  to  figure  out.  You've  no 
idea  how  it  helps !" 

"But  that  way  you  can't  take  much  account  of  what, 
you're  passing!" 

"Tim,  no,  I  suppose  not.  Still,  the  speed  is  exhila- 
rating !" 

Harlow  shook  his  head  with  gay  incredulity. 

"I've  never  been  able  to  like  motor  cars  from  the 
point  of  view  of  pleasure.  They  seem  to  me  the  greatest 
inconvenience;  they  defeat  their  own  ends.  Go  so  fast 
that  everything  is  a  blur  and  a  jumble.  One  minute 
you're  looking  at  a  cow  and  the  next  minute  a  man 
on  a  golf  course.  Think  you  see  a  cow  putting  at  the 
eighth  hole." 

The  girt  Muffet  laughed  as  at  the  greatest  witticism 
and  her  laughter,  so  unexpected,  so  virginal,  went  ring- 
ing like  a  bell  through  all  the  corridors  of  the  young 
man's  consciousness.  It  must  be  intoxicating,  he 
thought,  to  have  the  most  made  of  one's  attempts  at 


The  Heart's  Justice  25 

humor,  even  one's  poor  little  attempts.  But  he  only 
observed  tritely, 

"It's  a  product  of  the  times,  Mr.  Harlow,  and  you 
must  advance  with  the  times  even  if  your  mental  proc- 
esses do  get  out  of  breath !" 

Harlow  smiled  and  the  firelight  touched  him  poetic- 
ally. In  that  moment  he  might  have  been  the  last  young 
thing  on  earth,  Pan  in  his  ancient  youth,  sadly  amused 
by  evolution.  He  spoke  and  the  illusion  perished. 

"Agreed,  but  when  we're  running  'in  high/  as  the 
saying  goes,  we're  missing  so  much.  I  have  the  pro- 
foundest  respect  for  the  man  who  dares  step  out  of  the 
procession  long  enough  to  decide  what  it's  all  about.  I 
know  this  must  sound  contradictory  as  coming  from  one 
who  has  worked  in  the  cause  of  speed  and  power.  But 
you'll  have  to  take  it  as  my  alter  ego  speaking!  My 
daughter  and  I  have  tried  to  follow  a  cult  of  essentials, 
to  decide  what  constituted  the  great  and  lasting  pleasures 
of  life  and  then  to  go  after  them."  He  smiled  again 
reflectively.  "We're  great  playfellows,  great  nonsense- 
makers."  He  paused  to  pinch  her  ear.  "We  stop  very 
often  and  shake  all  the  importance  out  of  us.  A  good 
way  is  to  lift  your  eyes  at  night  and  let  them  travel  clear 
across  the  sky.  I  wonder  how  many  people  have  the 
courage  to  do  it!" 

But  Sterling  caugnt  him  back  by  a  visionary  coat- 
tail. 

"If  we  were  all  sky-gazers,"  he  said  sententiously, 
"we'd  get  no  business  done  below  here.  If  a  man 
doesn't  look  where  he's  going  he  stubs  his  toe !" 

The  conversation  drifted  into  more  commonplace 
channels,  the  factory,  the  town,  the  new  toll  bridge  that 
had  been  opened  across  the  harbor.  A  silence  fell,  as 
easy  as  an  old  shoe.  That  was  the  spell  of  the  house; 


26  The  Heart's  Justice 

once  you  found  yourself  there,  it  was  as  though  you  were 
an  habitue.  It  seemed  to  Sterling  that  the  chair  in 
which  he  was  seated,  a  low,  winged,  fireside  one,  was 
indecently  comfortable.  It  had  the  effect  of  scattering 
his  ideas.  A  delicate  aroma  of  chicken  floated  in  from 
the  kitchen,  the  snatch  of  a  droning  song. 

"A  gre-at,  long  freight-train  an'  a  red  ca-boose 
Brought  sorrer  to  man  door.  .  .  ." 

Sterling  smiled  interrogation. 

"That's  our  Vannie,"  explained  Harlow  dryly,  "or 
'Vanilla/  formally  speaking !  It  seems  her  mother  had 
about  exhausted  the  names  for  girls  when  she  thought 
of  the  possibilities  of  the  extracts.  There's  a  'Rose'  in 
the  family  and  an  'Almond.'  But  you'll  agree  that 
'Vanilla'  is  the  most  high  flavored." 

Forgetting  himself,  Sterling  roared. 

"But  what's  the  rest  of  the  song  about  the  sinister 
train  ?" 

"I've  never  heard  it,"  said  Harlow,  "though  she's 
been  singing  that  fragment  for  a  good  while.  My 
mother  picked  Vannie  out  of  a  cotton  field  in  Virginia 
when  she  was  just  a  child.  She  does  very  well  for  us 
in  a  simple  way.  You're  living  in  town,  are  you  not, 
Mr.  Sterling?" 

"Yes,  I  live  at  the  Mohawk.  It's  most  convenient 
for  a  bachelor." 

His  eyes  rested  innocently  upon  the  cinnamon-brown 
head  of  Muffet  who  had  taken  her  basket  of  mending 
from  the  table  and  was  now  bent  laboriously  over  it, 
coaxing  fresh  tissue  across  a  hole  of  discouraging  size. 
She  mended  very  badly  and  the  task  made  her  mouth 
adorably  serious. 

"The  Mohawk,"  took  up  Harlow  with  the  air  of 


The  Heart's  Justice  27 

handling  something  fresh.  "Well,  I  suppose  that  would 
be  the  proper  place  for  a  bachelor  as  you  figure  it.  We 
like  the  country,  though  of  course  the  character  of  this 
neighborhood  has  changed  and  not  for  the  better.  But 
there's  a  continual  interest  in  the  different  seasons. 
Spring,  for  instance.  You're  let  in  on  all  the  processes, 
so  intimately  concerned  in  the  coming  of  the  leaves 
that  you  actually  think  you  help  them  to  turn  green! 
And  then  the  birds."  He  pointed  to  a  window,  perma- 
nently blind  since  the  shutters  had  been  fastened  from 
the  outside.  "We've  had  tenants  there  three  seasons. 
The  first  season  we  thought  of  serving  a  'dispossess,' 
but  it  was  such  a  struggling  family  that  it  hardly  seemed 
humanitarian." 

"I  used  to  sit  inside  and  watch  the  mother  bird  feed- 
ing her  young,"  put  in  Muffet  for  the  first  time.  She 
lifted  a  face  that  was  wonderfully  alive  and  uncon- 
scious. "Dreadfully  ugly  offspring  with  voracious  appe- 
tites. It  must  have  taken  all  her  courage  to  bring  them 
up." 

"Yes,"  chuckled  her  father,  "and  since  then  there's  a 
family  every  year.  So  we  never  can  get  the  blind  open. 
You  see  yourself  what  advantages  the  location  offers 
for  refined  Jenny  Wrens." 

Sterling  stared  and  saw  through  the  pane  the  feathery 
litter  of  their  housing. 

"Great  Scott!"  he  exclaimed,  boyishly  entering  into 
the  spirit  of  it,  "then  you  can  see  the  eggs  and  every- 
thing." 

Once  again  something  tugged  profoundly  at  his  vitals. 
He  seemed  to  be  in  the  top  of  a  tree  that  was  swaying 
giddily  in  the  wind,  his  feet  clinging  to  a  precarious 
perch,  while  his  lifted  chin  just  cleared  the  rim  of  a 
nest  in  which  lay  three  speckled  eggs.  The  snapping 


28  The  Heart's  Justice 

of  a  spark  recalled  him,  made  him  remember  the  sundry 
conditions  of  his  manhood  and  the  call  which  he  had 
come  to  make  upon  David  Harlow  and  which  was  un- 
folding so  queerly.  He  became  practical  and  incred- 
ulous. 

"But  you  don't — you  don't  deprive  yourselves  of  the 
light  from  the  window  just  to  be  accommodating?" 

They  nodded  in  unison;  they  wagged  their  incorri- 
gible heads  in  delicious  gravity. 

"There  are  other  windows." 

The  conversation  had  become  so  artless  that  Sterling 
was  alarmed.  He  had  not,  as  they  say,  in  precise  par- 
lance, "stated  his  errand,"  he  had  given  no  motive  for 
the  call,  and  the  strange  part  of  it  all  was  that  his 
entertainers  did  not  appear  to  require  any.  Yet  they 
must  know  that  he  would  not  casually  descend  upon 
them.  He  had  come  with  a  fixed  purpose  and  he  was 
not  a  man  to  be  easily  swayed  from  a  decision  once  it 
was  made.  He  told  himself  that  the  daughter  would 
eventually  leave  the  room  and  he  would  say  to  her 
father  what  he  had  come  to  say.  But,  involuntarily, 
he  began  to  form  sentences  whose  trend  was  in  the 
opposite  direction.  He  was  baffled  by  his  own  com- 
plexity. 

"I  happened,"  he  heard  himself  saying,  "to  be  pass- 
ing by  and  I  thought  I  would  drop  in  for  a  chat.  I'd 
like  to  know  all  the  heads  of  our  departments  better, 
especially  the  old  guard.  Let's  see,  I  believe  it's  thirty 
years  you've  been  with  the  Ship  and  Engine!"  His 
tone  contradicted  his  sentiment  on  that  score;  that  a 
man  should  remain  for  thirty  years  in  one  department 
like  an  oyster  in  a  shell  seemed  to  him  absurd,  but  he 
made  it  appear  that  the  time  had  beon  spent  pro- 
gressively. 


The  Heart's  Justice  29 

His  uneasiness  showed  itself  only  in  that  he  gave  the 
older  man  no  space  for  reply,  but  continued  with  a 
quick,  firm  tread  of  words. 

"Your  staunch  friend,  Moore,  has  often  spoken  about 
the  experimental  work  you  do  at  home,  that  famous 
workshop  of  yours,  so  I  had  a  fancy  I'd  like  to  stop  and 
see  it,  that  is,  if  you  cared  to  show  it  to  me." 

Harlow's  face  glowed.  He  had  accepted  the  call  as 
a  mere  friendly  manifestation,  on  the  part  of  the  big, 
buoyant  young  manager.  But  this  interpretation 
pleased  him  more.  His  hands  trembled  as  his  nerves 
were  unseated. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I've  been  something  of  a  tinkerer  all 
my  life,"  he  admitted  with  the  modesty  of  the  man 
who  lovingly  deprecates  the  work  that  is  his  passion, 
"and  my  interest  has  always  centered  about  the  perfect- 
ing of  ships,  the  safeguarding  of  life  and  so  forth. 
I've  often  thought  of  trying  to  interest  you  in  some  of 
my  pet  theories,  Mr.  Sterling,  but  with  your  time  being 
so  valuable  and  all  that  you  have  on  your  mind  I  hardly 
liked  to  approach  you."  He  broke  off  expressively. 
"It's  very  good  of  you  to  come  of  your  own  accord.  It 
would  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  take  you  out," 
and  he  indicated  the  arbitrary  lines  of  moonlight  and 
darkness  that  formed  the  workship.  "If  you've  time 
now — or  if  you  could  give  us  your  company  for  dinner, 
perhaps  afterward " 

Sterling  rose  reluctantly. 

"I'm  afraid  I  scarcely  realized  how  late  it  was  when 
I  stopped  or  that  I'd  have  so  long  to  wait  for  you. 
Unfortunately  I  made  a  dinner  engagement  in  town. 
It's  with  the  President  of  the  Old  Whaling  Bank  and 
I  shouldn't  like  to  keep  him  waiting.  But  another 
time » 


30  The  Heart's  Justice 

All  the  light  left  David's  face,  it  became  a  cold,  gray 
facade,  fatalistic  in  acceptance.  He  nodded  lifelessly. 
He  was  the  sort  of  man  made  for  reverses,  just  as 
Sterling  was  the  sort  made  for  success.  It  seemed  to 
him  now  that  the  young  man's  coming  had  been  a  whim 
and  that  the  possibility  of  the  call  being  repeated  was 
slight.  Great  then  was  his  surprise  when  Sterling  said : 

"Suppose  we  make  a  definite  date  for  it.  Saturday 
afternoon  might  suit  us  both." 

The  color  raced  back  to  blanched  cheeks. 

"Saturday  afternoon,  by  all  means.  And  perhaps 
then  you'll  stay  and  dine  with  us.  It  would  be  the 
greatest  possible  pleasure  to  have  you.  Muffet,  my 
dear,  won't  you  add  your  word  to  mine  ?" 

Muffet  rose  with  alacrity  and  taking  her  father's  arm 
stood  leaning  upon  it  sweetly. 

"Do  come!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

His  eyes  roved  to  her. 

"Thanks,  I  will." 

He  turned  from  the  mellow  fire  where  all  the  good 
of  living  seemed  centered  and  suddenly,  as  typical  of 
their  half  whimsical,  half  rustic  life,  he  saw  that  there 
was  a  field  cricket  on  the  hearth.  It  lifted  its  whirring 
voice  and  again  the  sleeping  boy  in  Sterling  woke 
drowsily. 

"A  cricket,"  he  marveled,  "and  in  the  house.  I  sup- 
pose it's  hard  to  keep  them  out." 

"Oh,"  protested  Muffet,  "crickets  bring  good  luck! 
We  leave  the  house  unscreened  all  summer  so  they  can 


Chapter  III 


THAT  night  after  his  dinner  with  the  president  of 
the  Old  Whaling  Bank,  Sterling  returned  early 
to  his  rooms  at  the  Mohawk  and,  turning  a  but- 
ton of  the  electric  switch,  suffered  the  publicity  of  the 
ensuing  light.  It  came  through  suspended  globes  of 
imitation  alabaster  and  brimmed  the  small  foyer  and 
the  living  room  beyond.  The  apartment  comprised 
four  rooms,  the  bedroom,  bath,  a  formal  sitting  room 
and  a  so-called  "den"  done  in  the  usual  dingy  browns 
and  furnished  with  mission-leather  pieces  of  size  and 
importance.  On  the  walls  were  a  map  of  the  western 
hemisphere,  a  steel  engraving  of  Theodore  Roosevelt, 
several  worthless  lithographs  of  animals  and  a  really 
authentic  oil  sketch  of  a  five-masted  schooner  under  full 
sail.  The  last  Sterling  had  bought  at  a  summer  exhi- 
bition of  art  into  which  he  had  incongruously  strayed. 
It  had  struck  his  fancy  at  once  and  he  had  been  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  to  find  that  it  came  high.  His 
only  instinct  about  it  was  that  it  told  the  truth.  It  was 
a  moving  thing,  full  of  life  and  energy.  A  gay  wind 
filled  the  sails,  a  healthy  sun  showered  them  all  over  with 
color ;  the  sea  cutting  to  either  side  was  translucent  yet 
weighty  with  salt.  That  schooner  was  going  somewhere, 
somewhere  real,  yet  there  was  enough  of  a  legend  about 
it  to  clothe  its  mission  with  romance.  When  Sterling 
felt  his  forces  becalmed  he  could  always  look  at  it  and 
gain  locomotion  and  a  certain  freshness  of  direction. 
The  idea  fascinated  him. 

31 


32  The  Heart's  Justice 

But  even  the  schooner  could  not  redeem  the  "den" 
which  was  a  pitiful,  complacent  room.  You  were  sup- 
posed to  enter  it  in  smoking  jacket  and  house  slippers, 
to  select  a  pipe  from  the  burnt  wood  rack  on  the  wall, 
then  leaning  against  the  leather  read  something  light 
and  restful  by  the  lamp  which  stood  subserviently  at 
your  elbow. 

To-night  Sterling  forgot  the  tried  formula.  He  did 
none  of  these  things,  only,  flinging  himself  into  the 
chair,  sat  dully  surveying  his  dubious  comforts.  In  the 
light  of  new  knowledge  their  deliberate  offerings  seemed 
meretricious.  Take  that  room  of  the  Harlows.  The 
chairs  were  variegated.  Not  one  purported  to  be  the 
chair  for  a  tired  business  man.  Nothing  in  that  interior 
advertised  itself.  Yet  you  could  be  comfortable  there 
with  carelessness  and  self-respect.  You  could  read  or 
you  could  not  read.  You  could  have  a  fire  and  warm 
your  shins  without  the  clap-trap  contrivance  of  a  gas 
log.  He  cast  the  aspersion  of  his  glance  upon  the  cold 
artificiality  of  the  last.  It  was  not  just  that  the  Har- 
lows "had  it  over  him,"  vulgarly  speaking;  he  rather 
felt  they  "had  it  over"  Wedgewater's  most  pretentious 
families.  He  was  dully  angry,  because  he  could  not 
explain  why  it  was  so. 

From  his  dim  doubts  of  "the  den"  he  turned  to  doubt 
of  himself.  Why  had  he  acted  the  way  he  did  in  refer- 
ence to  David  Harlow?  What  had  caused  him  to  be- 
come weak  and  vacillating?  A  week  ago  he  had  de- 
cided in  his  plans  for  the  factory  that  the  old-timers, 
the  "dry-rot,"  must  be  gradually  weeded  out  and  their 
positions  refilled  with  younger,  more  assertive  men.  It 
was  a  difficult,  a  delicate  matter  to  handle,  but  for  intui- 
tive reasons  he  had  decided  to  begin  with  David  Harlow. 
Harlow  carried  one  of  the  longest  records  for  faithful 


The  Heart's  Justice  33 

service,  and  at  the  same  time  seemed  the  one  most  likely 
to  accept  dismissal  passively.  He  was  getting  on  in 
years  and  he  had  "his  hobby."  They  would  put  him 
on  half  pay,  as  was  customary  in  such  cases  and  his 
service  would  terminate  with  good  feeling  all  round.  He 
had  gone  to  Harlow's  home  to  break  the  news  gently,  and 
he  had  come  away  leaving  the  impression  that  his  call 
had  been  a  mere  friendly  overture.  Was  it  the  lonely, 
aristocratic  pride  of  the  man  which  had  deterred  him  ? 
Or  was  it  (he  touched  on  the  thought  awkwardly)  a 
motive  which  had  to  do  with  that  strange,  silent  girl 
who  took  so  little  account  of  him. 

He  had  a  grim,  childish  amusement  in  the  thought 
that  he  could  summon  the  image  of  her  before  him,  and 
she  was  bound  to  come.  She  was  there  now,  like  a  com- 
mandeered spirit  from  the  "Arabian  Nights."  She  stood 
among  the  leather  chairs,  defiant  and  elusive,  yet  un- 
able to  escape.  She  might  as  well  take  up  her  mending 
from  his  stout  mission  table  and  bend  her  cinnamon-dark 
head  in  resignation.  She  or  her  father,  it  mattered 
little  which,  had  offended  against  his  sacred  business 
precepts,  had  weakened  his  campaign  of  efficiency  till 
now  he  would  have  to  abandon  it.  He  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  and  watched  her  small,  reluctant  ghost  in  its 
shy  occupation  of  the  room.  A  sensation  overtook  him 
of  contemplative  luxury.  "Now  that  we  are  alone,"  he 
said  to  the  ghost,  "let's  have  it  out !  Are  you  or  are  you 
not  a  queen  of  snobbery?  ...  Is  it  shyness  that 
makes  you  so  inaccessible  or  do  you  think  I'm  a  curious, 
clumsy  sort  of  animal  ?  .  .  . " 

He  bent  over  to  get  a  peep  at  her  eyes  and  suddenly 
all  that  red-brown,  furry  hair  was  spinning  spider  webs 
across  his  own.  "Hark,"  he  said,  "there's  a  cricket  on 
the  hearth !"  and  she  replied  plausibly,  "Crickets  make 


34  The  Heart's  Justice 

excellent  cooks.  We've  had  one  as  a  servant  for  years !" 
There  were  a  lot  of  little  velvet  notes  in  her  voice  that 
swarmed  on  the  air  like  golden  bees  .  .  .  and  he 
started  to  count.  .  .  . 

But  when  he  had  counted  a  hundred  he  saw  sunlight 
scouring  the  floor,  and  sensed  a  chill  in  the  air  like  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 


Chapter 


IN  David  Harlow's  youth  it  was  fashionable  to  live 
in  the  country.  The  big  house  just  outside  Wedge- 
water  had  been  built  at  the  close  of  the  Civil  War 
as  Ebenezer  Harlow's  gift  to  his  bride.  The  pleasant 
lawns  were  defined  by  box  hedges  and  there  was  a 
garden  where  Jasmine,  his  young  wife,  her  delicate 
hands  protected  by  garden  gloves,  would  spade  about 
her  perennials  or  later  gather  the  giant  mignonette, 
the  sweet-william  or  sky-blue  canterbury-bells.  In  the 
stable,  long  ago  become  a  fiction,  Ebenezer  Harlow  kept 
his  sorrel  trotting  horse  and  a  pair  of  sprightly  bays 
to  draw  his  bride  each  time  she  rode  out  in  her  small, 
modish  victoria  with  tan  linings. 

The  house  itself  shone  with  love  and  harmony.  For 
never  were  two  so  sweetly  matched  as  Ebenezer  and 
his  Jasmine.  She  was  one  of  those  women  whose  gen- 
tleness and  patience  must  make  them  as  saints  to  men. 
Some  one  had  said  to  see  her  each  Sunday  kneeling  in 
the  family  pew  at  church,  her  clear,  cameo  face  up- 
lifted radiantly,  was  worth  more  than  the  sermon. 
Ebenezer,  of  stouter  stuff,  was  hardly  more  complex. 
But  adoring  her  demure  piety,  he  would  often  delib- 
erately shock  it.  He  liked  to  see  her  lift  her  small, 
protesting  hand  and  to  hear  her  remonstrate  when  he 
had  told  a  wicked  story, 

"Ebenezer,  remember  to  be  an  example  to  your  sons !" 
That  was  when  there  were  three  characters  to  be 

35 


36  The  Heart's  Justice 

shaped.  As  for  the  sons,  the  'two  oldest  reverted  to 
some  lawless  ancestry.  Albion  and  Joseph  were  lusty 
youths  who  seemed  to  have  none  of  the  inhibitions  of 
the  Harlow^.  To  the  distress  «of  their  gentle  mother 
and  their  stanch  Christian  sire,  they  were  born  devoid 
of  all  respect  for  authority.  No  sooner  were  they  in 
jeans  than  they  began  tying  tin  cans  to  the  tails  of  dogs, 
smoking  corn  silk  in  their  father's  pipe,  stealing  apples 
with  which  to  pelt  pedestrians,  and  lugging  a  sling  shot 
to  Sunday  school.  A  certain  worldly  great  aunt,  who, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  was  rather  edified  than  offended  by 
the  expert  profanity  of  Albion  and  Joseph,  remarked 
relishingly, 

"Dandled  on  the  knee  of  Piety  and  how  they  do 
swear !" 

As  men  they  swore  and  bullied  their  ways,  and 
amassed  fortunes,  whilst  their  youngest  brother  David 
was  still  struggling  in  a  morass  of  love  and  uncertainty. 
It  was  David,  of  course,  who  came  in  for  the  greatest 
share  of  their  mother's  love.  David  was  her  own  like 
chick;  the  others  were  strange  ducklings.  Ebenezef 
used  to  say  it  was  a  shame  how  she  babied  the  boy. 
But,  as  his  mother  knew,  David  was  not  the  sort  that 
could  be  made  insupportable  by  kindness.  He  looked  a 
Harlow.  He  was  dark  and  introspective  with  a  depend- 
ent wistfulness,  a  sensitive  reserve,  and  even  at  the  age 
of  five  a  woman-worshiper. 

Never  did  he  return  from  play  without  some  token 
for  his  mother — sometimes  a  bit  of  glass  he  had  seen 
shining  in  the  road,  sometimes  a  flower.  He  would  fall 
asleep  in  her  arms,  and  looking  upon  him  with  his 
parted  lips  and  fallen  lashes  she  would  think  there  must 
be  some  beautiful  dream  just  under  those  closed  eyes. 

As  the  harbor  was  so  close,  the  life  of  ships  came 


The  Heart's  Justice  37 

early  to  intrigue  his  imagination.  He  would  sit  for 
hours  in  the  salty  grass,  his  chubby  hands  on  his  knees, 
and  watch  the  busy  craft  with  a  great  scowling  pre- 
occupation. He  was  the  sort  of  young  lover  who  longs 
to  do  something  big  for  his  adored.  The  many  projects 
which  he  entertained  in  his  mother's  behalf  were  nearly 
too  heavy  for  him  to  carry  around, — one  day  he  would 
build  a  yacht  to  take  her  round  the  world,  the  next  he 
would  own  a  railroad.  But  always  confused  with  the 
idea  of  the  stupendous  gift  was  the  significant  quality 
of  power  and  locomotion. 

What  his  brothers  thought  of  him  at  the  age  of  five 
they  very  nearly  thought  when  he  was  fifty.  They 
would  peer  from  the  elevation  of  their  success  upon 
David,  still  blissfully  theorizing  below,  and  say  to  one 
another, 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?" 

They  did  this  from  time  to  time  as  though  to  make 
certain  that  he  stayed  unsuccessful.  They  would  have 
been  greatly  disconcerted  had  he  fooled  them. 

From  the  first  the  rude,  unimaginative  games  which 
the  older  boys  played  failed  to  interest  David.  He  was 
too  busy  in  his  world  of  science,  too  much  engrossed  in 
the  building  of  his  funny  little  water  wheels  and  stone 
crushers  and  pile  drivers.  When  he  had  nothing  in 
particular  to  do  he  would  scuff  about  slowly,  emitting 
the  thoughtful  "choo-choo-choo's"  of  an  engine,  and  no 
doubt  experiencing  all  the  internal  sensations  of  one. 

But  mostly  he  built  boats. 

"The  boy's  a  mechanical  genius,"  prophesied  his 
father;  "he'll  be  the  head  of  a  great  industry.  Wait 
and  see !" 

But  he  had  overlooked  the  fact  that  David  was  not 
and  never  would  be  executive.  Nevertheless  as  the 


38  The  Heart's  Justice 

boy  grew  the  salt  bay  fostered  vast  dreams ;  his  mother's 
faith  was  their  benediction.  Nothing  was  needed  to 
make  life  a  thrilling  adventure  save  love — which  he 
soon  discovered.  When  he  met  Rhoda  Lockwood  he 
was  twenty-five,  a  young  man  full  of  gallantries,  pic- 
turesque, idle  graces.  The  Harlows,  the  true  Harlows, 
were  courtly  men,  and  David  bred  true  to  type.  Broad- 
shouldered,  slim-waisted,  he  had  the  handsome  sweep- 
ing brow,  the  charming  mouth  and  fastidious  speech 
so  winning  to  the  opposite  sex.  He  had  gone  two  years 
to  college,  then  pleaded  that  he  be  allowed  to  take  up 
work.  Accordingly  his  father  had  secured  for  him  a  po- 
sition as  helper  in  one  of  the  departments  of  the  Ship 
and  Engine  factory  where  he  had  elected  to  work  his  way 
up.  In  college  he  had  met  many  maidens  but  his 
dream  of  feminine  perfection  being  a  lofty  one,  he  had 
returned  scatheless.  But  hardly  had  he  done  so  than 
he  lifted  his  eyes  to  see  Rhoda  Lockwood,  poised  above 
the  horizon  like  a  dainty  moon. 

Rhoda  Lockwood  thought  him  the  handsomest  of 
all  the  Wedgewater  swains,  but  when  told  that  he  was 
working  his  way  up  in  an  engine  factory,  she  lifted 
her  brow  uncertainly.  It  was  during  an  Easter  holiday 
and  she  had  come  to  visit  one  of  the  Clayton  girls,  who 
was  her  roommate  in  boarding  school.  She  had  come 
with  all  the  glamor  of  her  fashionable  training  behind 
her  and  had  taken  Wedgewater's  younger  set  by  storm. 
Because  of  David's  superlative  good  looks  and  the 
fact  that  she  was  weighing  his  assets  she  allowed  him 
to  escort  her  to  a  dance  and  next  day  drive  her  out 
behind  his  father's  fast  "Lightning."  "Lightning"  was 
skittish  from  lack  of  exercise  and  decided  to  run  away 
with  them.  But  the  entire  time  this  was  taking  place 
Rhoda  Lockwood  made  spirited  conversation.  Her  les- 


The  Heart's  Justice  39 

sons  in  s&voir  faire  had  emphasized  the  importance  of 
being  at  ease  in  all  situations.  So  she  simply  treated 
the  equestrian  exhibition  as  though  it  were  the  usual 
thing.  And  though  poor  David  was  too  busy  managing 
the  unruly  mare  to  make  intelligent  replies,  yet  he  was 
terribly  impressed  by  her  behavior  and  could  even 
remember  afterward  some  of  the  things  she  had  said. 

"I  think  spring  is  the  loveliest  season  of  the  year, 
don't  you,  Mr.  Harlow?" 

This  as  the  horse  reared  backward  and  very  nearly 
toppled  into  the  carriage.  When  the  stress  of  the  ride 
was  over  and  David  at  home  again  with  his  mother, 
he  put  the  most  elaborate  interpretation  on  the  girl's 
self-control. 

"It  was  wonderful,  Mother,"  he  confided  with  fer- 
vor, "wonderful  the  way  she  ignored  the  whole  awful 
business !  I  could  feel  the  perspiration  streaming  down 
my  face  because  I  simply  couldn't  get  her  out  of  the 
carriage  and  I  knew  Lightning  had  every  intention  of 
breaking  our  necks.  And  Miss  Lockwood  talks  as 
calmly  as  though  there  were  no  such  thing  as  danger." 

His  mother,  biting  a  thread  to  hide  a  quizzical  smile, 
looked  up  soberly.  David's  pride  was  more  precious 
to  her  than  all  else  in  the  world,  but  the  spectacle  of 
his  adolescent  infatuation,  so  serious  and  so  comic, 
touched  her  humor. 

"But,  dear,  I  hardly  see  the  point  in  her  acting  that' 
way.  I  should  think  it  would  have  made  it  harder  for 
you!" 

A  shade  of  annoyance  passed  over  his  face ;  it  was  to 
be  seen  that  he  was  deeply  smitten. 

"I  should  think  any  one  would  admire  courage  like 
that,"  he  reproved  her  grandly  and  his  dignity  was  all 
prickles. 


40  The  Heart's  Justice 

"But,  darling,"  protested  his  mother,  trouble  and 
tenderness  in  those  wise  eyes,  "I  meant  no  offense,  I'm 
sure.  It  only  seemed  so — extraordinary  because  in  a 
situation  like  that  I'm  sure  I  should  just  have  held  my 
tongue  and  prayed." 

Intuitively  she  knew  what  was  happening  to  him. 
~No  doubt  it  was  that  very  day  David  transferred  to 
Rhoda  the  gift  of  all  he  had  dreamed  for  his  mother; 
he  settled  upon  her,  as  it  were,  the  mystic  yacht,  the 
great  railroad,  and  all  other  potential  properties  of  his 
brain  and  imagination.  Nearly  every  vacation  there- 
after she  came  with  the  Clayton  girls.  She  seemed  to 
have  no  definite  home  obligation  though  there  was  the 
well-established  pretension  that  her  connections  were 
brilliant.  She  would  come  with  a  great  trunk  of  beau- 
tiful clothes  which  smelled  like  field  flowers  in  summer, 
and  she  would  dance  and  coquette  and  air  her  accom- 
plishments. 

At  David's  request  Mrs.  Harlow  invited  Rhoda  and 
the  Clayton  girls  to  dinner.  The  Clayton  girls  were 
wholesome  pieces  with  the  usual  equipment  of  hair 
and  eyes  and  jollity.  But  Rhoda  was  not  so  easily 
disposed  of.  She  had  the  magnolia  beauty  that  accom- 
panies Titian  hair,  and  affectations  dripping  from  every 
finger.  In  spite  of  that  bright  head  Mrs.  Harlow's  im- 
pressions were  of  cold  materials, — those  dazzling  pale 
arms  had  more  of  blue  than  pink  beneath  the  skin. 
They  suggested  marble  under  the  moon  and  the  low- 
cut  frock  of  pistachio-colored  poplin  fell  into  plastic 
folds  like  the  drapery  of  a  figure  in  a  fountain. 

But  despite  the  pretty  poise  and  careless  elegance 
which  characterized  her  that  evening  Miss  Rhoda's 
brain  was  functioning  mathematically.  Her  aunt,  the 
capable  woman  whose  management  had  brought  her 


The  Heart's  Justice  41 

where  she  was,  had  been  careful  to  instill  a  trenchant 
doctrine.  "When  you  are  sure  you  are  making  a  sen- 
sible marriage  you  can  afford  to  be  sentimental,"  she 
had  told  her  niece.  Accordingly  Rhoda  had  admired 
the  handsome  David,  but  with  reservations.  Emotion- 
ally she  had  burned  no  bridge  behind  her.  But  now 
she  saw  the  Harlow  home  unfold  itself  in  somber  rich- 
ness; though  Mrs.  Harlow  inclined  to  be  old-fashioned 
she  was  undeniably  a  patrician  and  blood  was  an  asset 
second  only  to  fortune.  To  be  first  in  Wedgewater  might 
not  be  a  magnificent  goal  for  one  so  educated,  but  she 
need  not  consider  that  residence  here  would  be  necessar- 
ily permanent.  She  approved  of  the  heavy  silver  of  the 
dinner  service,  the  gossamer  cups  of  Sevres  from  which 
she  drank  her  after-dinner  coffee,  the  genial  rotundity 
of  Ebenezer  Harlow  which  marked  him  a  gentleman  of 
ease. 

All  evening  the  candle-light  which  Mrs.  Harlow  still 
affected  shone  upon  Rhoda's  prettiest  manners  and  the 
gestures  of  her  pale,  pointed  hands.  She  conversed 
quite  dazzlingly  of  the  latest  books  and  plays  and 
music,  yet  Mrs.  Harlow  was  sickly  certain  that  if  one 
scratched  beneath  the  surface  no  blood  of  character 
would  show.  She  felt  like  a  spectator  at  some  fatal 
performance  as  she  watched  Rhoda  act  and  saw  David, 
Byronic  with  his  mahogany  curls,  his  lean  cheeks  of 
exquisite  sculpturing  handsomely  flushed,  paying  court 
to  her.  Who  shall  gainsay  the  divine  clairvoyance  of 
mothers  ?  ...  After  that  evening  Mrs.  HarloVs 
health  was  never  so  good.  .  .  . 

Rhoda's  guardians,  an  aunt  and  uncle,  appeared  for 
the  wedding  and  appropriately  dissolved  when  it  was 
over  and  nothing  authentic  was  ever  known  of  them. 


42  The  Heart's  Justice 

The  woman  was  frankly  materialistic ;  her  natural  soft- 
ness had  evidently  suffered  in  a  hard  school.  The 
man  looked  the  kind  of  questionable  financier  whose 
fortunes  fluctuate.  If  they  made  their  niece  no  dowry, 
they  at  least  left  her  alone  to  work  out  her  salvation 
without  the  unhappy  shadow  which  their  relationship 
might  have  cast  upon  her. 

Jasmine  Harlow  knew  that  some  ironic  destiny  had 
made  Khoda  the  dictator  of  her  son's  life.  He  had 
idealized  her  in  the  most  preposterous,  blind  way, 
but  how  could  she  tell  him  so  without  the  risk  of 
alienating  him  entirely  ?  She  chose  the  harder  part, — 
she  held  her  peace,  and  no  word  of  criticism  ever  passed 
her  lips. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  David  should  continue  with 
his  work  in  the  Ship  and  Engine  factory.  He  needed 
only  the  beautiful  young  creature  whom  he  adored, 
his  dreams  and  his  occupation.  But  he  had  not  realized 
how  many  comforts  are  required  to  make  life  support- 
able to  one  with  fashionable  tastes.  If  Rhoda  were 
denied  the  least  of  these  luxuries,  she  would  play  the 
languishing  lady  till  David,  near  beart-break,  despaired 
of  ever  maintaining  her  in  real  contentment. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  year  Ebenezer  Harlow  died 
and  David  came  into  his  inheritance.  Rhoda  promptly 
took  a  new  lease  on  life.  She  was  able  to  employ  two 
servants,  to  ride  in  her  own  carriage,  and  to  entertain 
in  a  small  but  distinguished  way.  As  her  husband  was 
so  handsome  and  so  devoted  and  as  other  women  envied 
her  her  lot  in  life,  she  was  reasonably  happy  for  a  time. 
But  when,  during  the  third  year  she  learned  that  she 
was  going  to  have  a  child,  permanent  gloom  descended 
upon  her. 

Mrs.  Harlow,  wearing  her  widow's  veil,  came  period- 


The  Heart's  Justice  43 

ically  for  brief  visits  and  always  bade  her  son  farewell 
with  a  brave,  bright  smile  to  hide  her  tears.  But  the 
tears  were  there  and  David  saw  them,  and  later  in  life 
he  knew  why  his  mother  had  wept  for  him. 


Chapter  V 


BEFOEE  she  died  old  Mrs.  Harlow  was  able  to 
hold  in  her  arms  David's  daughter,  and  to  be- 
stow upon  her  the  jingling  nursery  name  which 
in  later  years  was  to  prove  adhesive. 

"Little  Miss  Muffet,"  she  cooed  with  the  freshet  of 
maternal  rapture  which  flows  mysteriously  back  into 
quite  autumnal  hearts,  given  a  baby  to  release  it,  "you 
are  your  father's  child!" 

"No,"  disclaimed  David  uneasily,  fearing  Rhoda's 
jealousy,  "she's  her  mother's — really." 

"David,"  insisted  Mrs.  Harlow,  leaning  over  to  drive 
home  her  point  by  a  pressure  of  his  knee,  "she  is  your 
child.  Wait  and  see!" 


Poor  David,  who  would  have  liked  so  much  to  be 
happy  with  both  his  wife  and  his  child  was  allowed  to 
find  profit  in  neither.  From  the  day  of  little  Rhoda's 
birth  the  spur  was  applied  to  him.  He  was  made  to 
feel  that  a  quite  extraordinary  concession  had  been  the 
bearing  of  this  child,  and  that  her  presence  in  the  world 
would  necessitate  no  end  of  readjustments,  morally  and 
financially.  Rhoda  began  to  talk  about  the  expense 
of  bringing  her  up  in  the  smartest  fashion.  Her  plan- 
ning was  on  so  large  a  scale  that  David  trembled  before 
it.  She  pointed  out  that  since  his  mother  was  not 

44 


The  Hearts  Justice  45 

likely  to  last  many  years  (David  winced)  they  might 
as  well  move  into  the  big  house  on  the  Wedgewater  road 
at  once,  and  establish  themselves  in  dignity. 

For  sufficient  reasons  Mrs.  Harlow  would  not  have 
suggested  the  arrangement,  but  she  offered  no  objection 
when  it  was  proposed  by  Rhoda.  Her  only  course  was 
to  efface  herself,  which  she  did  promptly  and  thor- 
oughly. She  gathered  up  her  skirts  when  she  saw  them 
coming  and  retired  with  a  rustle  of  silk,  giving  Rhoda, 
without  reservation,  the  reins  of  government,  an  act 
of  gallantry  on  the  part  of  a  gentlewoman  whose  reign 
had  comprised  over  thirty  wise  years.  It  might  have 
been  said  of  Jasmine  Harlow  that  all  her  gestures  were 
graceful.  If  David  was  distressed  to  see  his  gentle 
mother  thus  superseded  in  her  own  establishment,  he 
knew  better  than  to  protest  openly.  These  two  under- 
stood each  other  perfectly  and  never  resorted  to  a 
covert  word  between  them. 

David's  child  was  sickly  and  undernourished.  Rhoda 
refused  to  nurse  her  and  was  in  a  continual  stew  about 
nurses  and  doctors.  She  said  repeatedly  that  little 
Rhoda  was  not  a  pretty  baby  and  that  for  a  girl-child 
not  to  have  beauty  was  a  decided  handicap.  She  gave 
parties  to  console  herself  and  tried  to  forget  that  over- 
head in  the  nursery  the  infant  was  crying  itself  almost 
into  convulsions.  Often  old  Mrs.  Harlow,  fine-drawn 
lines  in  her  pale  face,  would  leave  her  chamber  and 
under  cover  of  the  racket  below  steal  to  the  door  of 
the  room  wherein  a  trained  nurse  labored  at  her  wit's 
end  to  quiet  a  hungry,  infuriated  little  human  being, 
savage  for  sustenance. 

"Dear,  dear,"  she  would  sigh  helplessly.  For  she 
was  never  allowed  to  interfere. 


46  The  Heart's  Justice 

ii 

When  David  had  been  ten  years  married  the  old- 
young  look  was  already  settled  on  his  face  and  his 
mother  had  lain  five  winters  under  a  blanket  of  snow, 
five  summers  under  incredible  moss-pinks  as  radiant 
as  her  cheeks.  He  was  the  shabby  husband  of  an 
insistently  gilded  wife,  the  father  of  a  little  girl  grown 
strong  and  shy,  with  roving,  red-brown  eyes  and  a  per- 
verse, inaccessible  nature.  Rhoda  would  take  her  south 
winters  or  north  in  summer,  while  David  stayed  home, 
drudging  in  the  shop,  but  he  was  always  on  the  plat- 
form when  they  returned,  sweet  in  his  deprivation, 
welcoming  them  warmly. 

Rhoda  took  pride  in  the  cinnamon  curls  of  Muffet, 
dressed  the  child  elaborately  and  sought  to  make  her 
precocious.  When  David  pleaded  that  "showing  off" 
was  against  the  child's  inherent  nature  she  would  say, 
with  the  touch  of  asperity  that  was  hardening  her  pretty 
mouth, 

"You  tend  to  your  old  engines  and  let  me  bring  her 
up  in  my  own  way !" 

But  with  all  her  striving  Rhoda's  social  success,  a 
forced  fruit  at  best,  displeased  the  palate  of  the  dis- 
criminating. Her  popularity  proved  inconstant. 
Wedgewater,  an  intensely  sober,  exacting  community, 
created  its  own  standard.  Her  pretensions  being  as  high 
as  her  handshake,  Rhoda  had  always  looked  upon  the 
factory  with  a  contemptuous  eye. 

"It  is  very  lucky,"  she  said,  "that  your  father  left 
us  something — though  it's  little  enough.  I  can't  think 
why  you  persist  in  that  old  rut." 

But  David,  enfeebled  though  he  was  by  aspersions, 
did  persist  with  a  sort  of  mean,  broken-spirited  tenacity. 


The  Heart's  Justice  47 

She  could  spend  his  father's  money  but  he  would  have 
his  work.  Even  though  he  made  no  spectacular  prog- 
ress and  whenever  it  was  possible  for  another  to  slip  by 
him  in  a  thin  passage  that  other  always  did,  yet  he 
adhered  to  his  dogged  ways,  his  workshop  and  enthusi- 
asm, called  by  Rhoda  "hobbies." 

Bored  to  extinction  in  her  provincial  setting,  cod- 
dling the  belief  that  she  was  a  superlatively  gifted 
woman  if  only  she  could  find  her  audience,  Rhoda 
played  and  primped  through  lonely  days,  even  occupy- 
ing herself  with  the  child,  who  was  neither  as  clever 
as  her  side  of  the  house  nor  as  handsome  as  the  Harlows. 
Rouging  and  polishing  her  nails  throughout  the  day, 
manipulating  a  mirror  before  another  mirror,  ever- 
lastingly posing  before  her  audience  of  one,  her  sad, 
listless  little  audience,  she  would  ask, 

"Am  I  beautiful  and  are  you  happy  to  have  a  beau- 
tiful mother  ?" 

"Yes,  Mother." 

"Even  though  your  father  takes  no  notice  .  .  . 
and  this  hateful  house  is  shunned  by  all  the  stupid, 
hateful  people  .  .  .  and  you  and  I  are  virtually 
prisoners  ?" 

"Yes,  Mother." 

"You  will  remember  always  that  you  were  born 
a  lady  as  your  mother  is  a  lady  and  common  things 
are  not  for  us  ?" 

"Yes,  Mother,  I  mean  no,  Mother." 

Thus  interminably  the  dreary  «duet.  Occasionally  it 
varied. 

"Coming  home  with  his  hands  of  a  day-laborer,  look- 
ing so  dull  and  tired  and.shifty,  because  he's  a  failure," 
brooded  Rhoda  and  the  child  asked, 

"Mother,  what  is  a  failure?" 


48  The  Heart's  Justice 

"A  failure  is  a  man  who  hasn't  made  the  most  of 
his  opportunities.  It's  your  father's  own  fault  that 
he  comes  under  this  head.  I  could  have  helped  him 
anywhere;  I  had  the  brains  and  the  beauty.  But  he 
was  insane  over  machinery — as  if  those  are  the  only 
wheels  that  turn." 

But  the  child  was  repeating  like  one  who  learns  a 
difficult  lesson, 

"A  failure  is  a  man  who     .     .     ." 

Just  what  happened  between  that  time  and  the  days 
when  Rolf  Sterling  knew  them  was  kept  most  sedu- 
lously guarded.  If  the  residents  of  Wedgewater  ever 
knew  there  was  nothing  to  refresh  their  memories.  No 
word  of  the  mother  and  the  wife  was  heard  upon  the 
lips  of  either  David  or  his  daughter.  They  lived  alone 
and  Muffet  Harlow  apparently  wanted  no  one  but  her 
father. 

"Your  child,  David,"  his  mother  had  said.     .     .     . 


Chapter  VI 


SCAKCELY  had  Eolf  Sterling  drawn  np  at  the 
gate  of  the  Harlow  house  on  Saturday  than  the 
door  flashed  open.  It  twinkled  inward  and  there 
stood  old  David,  vibrating  welcome.  There  was  no 
Vannie  this  time  to  prolong  the  ceremony :  entrance  was 
immediate  and  intimate.  Sterling  too  felt  impatient 
though  not  for  the  reason  that  Harlow  was  impatient. 
Harlow  thought  with  a  great  glow  of  simple  gratitude 
how  good  Sterling  had  been  to  come,  and  Sterling 
thought  about  Harlow,  the  smug  old  fellow  who  kept 
his  pretty  daughter  well  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  the 
world. 

They  were  again  in  the  room  of  his  first  encounter, 
among  the  beautiful,  battered  things  hallowed  by  their 
daily  usage.  Sterling  had  thought  of  it  a  hundred  times 
in  the  interim  and  wondered  if  his  reaction  would  be 
the  same.  He  was  pleased  to  find  that  it  was.  The 
paneled  chimney-place  with  its  pendant  warming  pan, 
and  bellows,  its  wonderful  old  Staffordshire  ornaments, 
the  low,  chintz-covered  chairs  drawn  near,  these  and 
the  other  arrangements  of  the  room  repeated  their 
rightness.  Wherever  there  was  a  bit  of  wood  showing 
in  the  old  chairs  it  was  worn  thin  as  thread-bare  satin. 
.  .  .  The  fingers  slipped  along  it  suavely  .  .  . 

Old  Harlow,  shaven,  with  clean  linen  showing  be- 

49 


5O  The  Heart's  Justice 

neath  the  dark,  shapeless  jacket,  was  the  embodiment 
of  Saturday  afternoon.  His  thin,  gentle  mouth  smiled 
•whimsically:  his  eyes  beneath  their  ledgy  brows  were 
twinkling;  the  tuft  of  hair  that  sped  back  from  his 
forehead  shone  glamorous  as  frost.  Sterling  thought 
of  him  in  his  department  at  the  factory  and  was  unable 
to  reconcile  the  picture  with  the  man  he  saw  before  him 
now.  Here  his  distinction  was  undeniable — there  he 
was  but  one  of  fifty  draftsmen,  all  of  whom  now  moved 
with  greater  rapidity.  He  had  ascertained  that  on  sev- 
eral occasions  Harlow  had  grown  dizzy  at  his  board  and 
been  surprised  by  the  other  men  with  his  head  sagging. 
But  after  the  administration  of  a  drink  and  a  few  min- 
utes in  the  air  he  had  insisted  on  continuing  with  his 
work  and  had  been  terribly  upset  because  his  old  friend, 
Elijah  Moore,  summoned  from  the  pattern  shop,  had 
suggested  telephoning  his  daughter. 

"Well  now!"  from  David  delightedly  and  he  made 
the  gesture  of  hands  on  knees,  recognized  from  time 
immemorial  as  signifying  something  cozy  in  the  nature 
of  a  beginning,  even  if  it  be  only  plump  and  racy  talk 
between  two  gossips. 

"I'm  glad  you  came  early.  We'll  have  a  good  long 
time  before  us.  ...  I'd  ask  you  to  take  off  your  coat 
but  we'll  be  going  out  to  the  workshop  at  once,  I  think, 
and  it's  sometimes  a  trifle  chilly.  I — er  I  should  prefer 
taking  you  out  before  Elijah  arrives.  Best  friend  in 
the  world,  Elijah  Moore,  but — er — erratic,"  and  with 
gentle  cantankerousness,  "he  gets  ahead  of  me  in  my 
own  talk.  Now  I  like  to  explain  things  progressively, 
but  Elijah,  he's  jumpy — has  the  cart  before  the  horse 
every  time,  and  if  you  can't  understand  him  he  gets 
waspish.  .  .  ." 

"Elijah,"  mused  Sterling,  smiling.     "Oh,  Moore!" 


The  Heart's  Justice  51 

And,  since  he  was  not  obtuse  he  saw  the  whole  tick- 
ling situation, — the  two  old  cronies  had  waited  for  this 
day,  Elijah  with  no  interests  of  his  own  being  a  stock- 
holder in  all  of  Harlow's.  He  saw  also  that  Harlow 
was  childishly  determined  to  demonstrate  his  own  in- 
vention *in  his  own  way,  and  to  enjoy  the  full  flavor  of 
proprietorship.  Innocent  enough,  but  was  it  not  comic 
the  way  he  was  getting  ahead  of  Moore,  cheating  him 
out  of  the  show  by  crowding  in  the  workshop  the  first 
thing,  no  doubt  getting  Sterling  there  just  a  "lit-tle" 
bit  earlier  than  Moore  expected ! 

"All  right,"  he  said  good-naturedly,  "let's  get  about 
it,"  but  his  eye  grew  vagrant. 

There  were  sounds  in  the  house,  anonymous  ones. 
Was  Miss  Harlow  at  home  or  was  the  lump-footed 
Vannie  responsible  for  all  of  them?  He  told  himself 
that  his  only  interest  in  Miss  Harlow  was  the  wish  to 
solve  her  psychology.  But  this  hypothesis  did  not  ex- 
plain why  he  had  hoped  he  might  be  alone  with  the 
family  for  the  evening  meal.  At  any  rate  that  hope 
had  been  nipped  by  the  mention  of  old  Moore  as  an 
accustomed  guest.  Moore  would  of  course  be  the  kind 
of  man  who  formed  regular  dining-out  habits,  a  Satur- 
day and  Sunday-nighter ! 

Stupid  with  his  conjectures,  Rolf  followed  David 
Harlow  out-of-doors.  Though  the  afternoon  was  bright, 
the  field,  it  could  hardly  be  called  a  lawn,  looked  bleak 
with  the  heavy,  matted  fall  of  maple  leaves,  that  had 
lain  sodden  through  several  rains. 

"There  are  two  theories  about  leaves,"  remarked 
David  incorrigibly  over  his  shoulder.  "Some  believe 
in  raking  them  up,  and  others  in  letting  them  lie.  I 
believe  in  letting  them  lie."  And  he  chuckled. 

How  characteristic  that  was,  mused   Sterling,   and 


52  The  Heart's  Justice 

years  afterward  in  thinking  of  David  Harlow  he  would 
remember  that  dry  voice  with  the  chuckle  behind  it, 
drawling,  "There  are  two  .theories  about  leaves — 
Now  Harlow  forged  ahead  over  the  rough  ground  almost 
at  a  dog-trot.  He  had  lifted  his  collar  about  his  ears, 
and  his  ears  looked  gleeful.  He  had  resisted  the  furtive 
glance  up  the  road  which  was  in  the  back  of  his  mind 
but  Sterling,  catching  the  wave,  did  it  for  him  and 
grinned  when  he  saw  that  no  one  was  in  sight. 

"Take  care  of  your  head,"  recommended  David  and 
Sterling  bent  to  graze  the  low  lintel  of  the  door. 

"There  now,"  chuckled  his  host,  "there  now"  being 
only  second  in  sequence  to  "well  now."  It  represents 
a  more  mature  plane  of  enjoyment;  it  is  getting  well 
along  toward  the  heart  of  the  matter.  He  turned  with 
a  look  almost  appealing  to  Rolf  and  suddenly  he  saw 
him  as  a  symbol.  There  in  the  subdued  light  of  the 
shop,  rising  from  the  dust  of  disillusion,  was  a  young 
man  more  beautiful  than  pictures,  if  youth  amounted  to 
anything,  youth  and  plastic  perfection.  There  was 
nothing  spiritual  in  Rolf's  appearance.  Nor  did  he 
know  that  he  was  magnificently  conceived  for  manhood. 
But  Harlow  was  suddenly  thrilled  by  his  hugeness  and 
vitality.  It  was  as  though  Sterling  was  something 
needed  to  complement  his  sterile  years,  something 
wheeled  into  his  life  as  the  wooden  horse  was  wheeled 
into  Troy.  Tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

Rolf,  all  unconscious  of  the  emotion  he  had  quick- 
ened, was  examining  the  room.  It  was  neither  par- 
ticularly light  nor  adaptable  to  the  sort  of  use  Harlow 
had  made  of  it.  All  the  marks  of  old  years  were  there, 
dust-covered  patterns  hanging  on  the  walls,  now  moldy 
as  discarded  theories.  But  one  marked  the  man's  prog- 
ress by  the  evolution  of  his  tools  and  contrivances  up 


The  Heart's  Justice  53 


to  the  point  where  everything  w03  quite  triumphantly 
modern. 

A  high  desk  was  littered  with  drawing-boards  and 
draftsman's  tools,  triangles,  T-squares,  protractors  and 
the  like.  At  the  work-bench  Sterling's  practiced  eye 
assimilated  the  detail  of  small  tools  and  a  precision 
lathe  for  very  fine  work.  Nearby  he  noted  other  ma- 
chines of  Harlow's  own  ingenious  design  and  manufac- 
ture, the  craftsmanship  of  which  appeared  perfect.  A 
gasoline  motor  furnished  power  for  the  shop.  Ster- 
ling's heart  warmed  to  the  workmanlike  interior.  If 
he  had  a  soul  to  understand  anything  it  was  the  absorp- 
tion with,  the  heroic  adherence  of  a  man  to  his  own 
line,  his  work,  his  dream.  He  knew  he  was  standing 
in  the  sanctum  of  David  Harlow's  lifelong  endeavor  — 
the  region  of  his  research. 

The  atmosphere  trembled. 

"Now  then,"  said  David. 


An  hour  later  Muffet  Harlow,  looking  from  the  win- 
dow, saw  Elijah  Moore  coming  up  the  road.  He  was  a 
small,  birdlike  man  in  a  wispy  overcoat,  holding  his 
head  sharply  to  one  side  and  walking  with  a  little  hitch 
in  each  step  as  though  in  an  effort  of  exaggerated 
sprightliness.  Amused,  she  ran  to  open  the  door  to 
him.  He  was  the  only  habitue  of  the  house  and  she 
knew  him  very  well. 

"And  How  are  you  to-day?"  he  chirped,  flattered  by 
the  attention.  He  invariably  began  his  sentences  with 
"and,"  which  made  his  talk,  even  after  a  long  inter- 
ruption, seem  miraculously  to  tide  over.  He  gave  her 
an  affectionate  handshake. 


54  The  Heart's  Justice 

Pleasure,  like  any  other  unwonted  emotion,  aggra- 
vated the  nervousness  which  caused  him  to  walk,  talk, 
and  gesture  in  jerks.  He  removed  his  hat  and  shook  out 
his  hair,  which  was  never  smooth  but  rose  in  separate 
incrustations  like  feathers.  His  unconsidered  mus- 
tache was  as  awry  as  the  rest  of  him. 

"And  how  is  your  father  ?" 

He  rubbed  his  hands  as  in  relishment  of  some  prom- 
ised pleasure. 

"And  Mr.  Sterling,"  rather  more  cautiously.  "He 
hasn't  come?" 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  come,"  she  shocked  him  innocently. 
"He  came  an  hour  ago  and  he  and  father  have  been 
denned  out  there  ever  since !" 

She  waved  her  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  work- 
shop. Mr.  Moore  looked  calamitous.  His  hands  flew 
in  every  direction. 

"Tchk,  tchk,  tchk,"  he  rued  with  his  tongue,  and 
"Dear,  dear,  dear,  dear,  dear." 

She  asked  impishly, 

"Is  it  so  bad?" 

"I  should  so  have  liked  ...  if  your  father  had 
trusted  to  me  in  presenting  the  matter.  .  .  .  No  doubt 
I  should  have  come  earlier,  I  should  have  been  on  hand." 

Muffet  thought  of  the  pig  and  the  wolf  in  the  old 
nursery  tale  and  how  the  pig  had  outwitted  the  wolf  by 
going  so  early  to  the  fair.  Her  eyelids  shivered  over 
eyes  burdened  with  laughter. 

"Never  mind,  perhaps  you're  not  too  late  now! 
You'd  better  go  right  out  and  see  if  you  can't  impress 
the  impressive  Mr.  Sterling!"  She  pronounced  the 
name  with  mocking  deference. 

"I  tell  you  what  I  think,"  whispered  Elijah,  hesi- 
tating in  the  passage  and  reclaiming  his  hat.  "I  think 


The  Heart's  Justice  55 

if  you  were  to  smile  at  him  just  as  you're  smiling  at 
me  now."  He  wagged  a  finger. 

"Oh  how  idiotic!"  but  she  blushed. 

"He's  va-ry  smart,"  bobbed  back  Mr.  Moore  with 
great  archness,  "and  va-ry  well-to-do !" 

Convulsed,  she  caught  him  by  the  coat-lapel  and 
whispered  in  his  ear.  It  was  a  fuzzy  ear  and  in  her 
impetuosity  she  pressed  so  close  that  she  felt  its  rabbit- 
like  rim  against  her  cheek. 

"He  smells  of  shaving  soap,"  she  disposed  scathingly 
of  the  "va-ry  well-to-do"  Mr.  Sterling. 


in 


When,  after  dark,  the  three  men  came  in  Muffet  was 
in  the  sitting  room.  David  had  not  mentioned  her,  and 
a  keen  anxiety  had  grown  up  in  Sterling  that  for  some 
reason  she  would  withhold  her  society  altogether.  His 
dim  anxiety  was  only  dispelled  by  the  surprise  of  dis- 
covering what  her  father  had  been  about.  This  dis- 
covery had  knocked  askew  all  the  planets  in  the  solar 
system  of  his  brain.  Harlow  had  pursued  a  line  of 
reasoning  eminently  practical  and  plausible,  and  had 
achieved  a  result,  which  like  all  clever  ideas,  appeared 
to  have  been  simple  from  the  start.  He  had  given 
years  to  the  perfection  of  this  smooth  mechanism  which 
he  now  proceeded  to  demonstrate. 

What  he  had  to  show  was  a  small  model  of  a  valve 
and  a  valve  gear  for  a  Deisel  engine,  one  which  func- 
tioned without  aid  of  cams  or  springs,  positive  in  action 
and  practically  noiseless.  Its  light  reciprocating  parts 
were  made  with  an  ease  of  lubrication  and  accessibility. 
Sterling's  trained  faculties  recognized  its  merits  at 
once,  and  his  surprise  was  his  greatest  tribute  to  the 


56  The  Heart's  Justice 

inventor.  For  two  hours  he  listened  and  assimilated, 
raising  objections  for  the  interest  of  having  them  over- 
ridden. His  admiration  for  the  older  man  was  evi- 
denced in  the  new  tone  of  deference  in  which  he  ad- 
dressed him.  This  in  the  first  flush  of  enthusiasm. 
For  the  better  part  of  his  life  he  had  been  interested  in 
the  building  of  the  Deisel  engine,  but  Harlow's  ex- 
haustive study  of  it  made  Sterling's  knowledge  seem 
superficial  in  comparison.  After  all,  Sterling  was  an 
executive,  not  a  creator.  But  what  good  had  Harlow's 
genius  ever  done  him  since  he  lacked  just  those  tough, 
pioneering  qualities  which  inhered  in  the  younger  man  ? 
One  thing  was  certain, — without  moral  assistance  he 
would  never  attain  to  the  commercializing  of  his  inven- 
tion, valid  though  it  was.  And  Sterling  was  already 
asking  himself  how  vitally  concerned  in  its  promotion 
he  cared  to  become.  .  .  . 

At  length  the  afternoon  ended  and  in  place  of  such 
heavy  preoccupations  came  tripping  the  pleasant,  per- 
sonal ones  he  had  temporarily  set  aside.  Was  she  or 
was  she  not  in  the  house  ?  On  entering  he  had  imme- 
diately asked  to  wash  up,  and  old  Harlow  had  led  him 
up  the  shallow  Colonial  flight  of  stairs.  At  the  top  they 
had  paused  in  idle  confab  over  the  presence  of  a  stout 
oaken  gate.  Sterling  asked  carelessly  if  Miss  Harlow 
had  been  the  last  child  in  the  house. 

His  host  paused,  breathing  delicately  from  the  climb. 

"It  was  not  placed  there  when  she  was  a  child,"  he 
said  in  a  low  voice,  "but  later  when  she  was  nearly 
grown.  I  discovered  that  she  was  walking  in  her 
sleep!" 

Sterling's  impression  was  of  a  deeper  significance 
than  the  words  implied.  It  was  just  something  in  the 
expression  of  Harlow's  face,  an  eyrie  reminiscence. 


The  Heart's  Justice  57 

"I  was  afraid  she  might  get  hurt,"  he  concluded 
simply. 

Sterling  made  no  comment  but  his  heart  went  sud- 
denly quiet,  like  water  when  the  wind  goes  down. 
They  traversed  a  square  hall  with  a  beautiful  window  at 
the  end,  its  many  white  bars  enclosing  stars  on  a  back- 
ground of  burning  blue.  A  ship's  lantern,  carrying  oil, 
threw  faint  discernment  on  the  old  English  prints  and 
the  family  portraits  crowding  the  walls.  Harlow  indi- 
cated a  door. 

"The  bathroom,  Mr.  Sterling,  I'll  wait  for  you  below." 
And  he  went  shuffling  down  again,  singing  a  moody 
old  song,  half  gay,  half  melancholy,  but  in  this  instance 
indicative  of  capital  humor.  When  Sterling  descended 
to  join  him,  Muffet  Harlow  was  standing  beside  her 
father  in  the  sitting  room.  She  wore  an  unfashionable 
dress  of  black  velvet  that  accentuated  the  slimness  of 
her  figure.  At  her  neck  was  a  narrow  collar  of  em- 
broidery which  might  have  belonged  to  one  of  those 
serious  ancestors  Sterling  had  encountered  in  the  upper 
hall.  Her  small,  beautifully-shaped  wrists  were  set 
off  by  tight  bands  of  the  same  quaint  linen. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  proffered,  leaving  the  circle 
of  her  father's  arm  and  stepping  forward.  She  gave 
him  her  hand  and  stepped  back  again  conclusively,  this 
time  winding  her  arm  across  her  father's  shoulder. 
There  was  an  affectionate  abandon  in  her  way  of  doing 
this.  It  was  as  though  the  few  hours  of  separation 
had  been  hard  on  them  both.  The  fact  that  she  had 
found  no  sphere  in  life  other  than  being  a  child  to  him 
made  this  attitude  poignant,  pitiful.  They  stood  facing 
Sterling  and  Elijah  Moore,  two  friends  come  to  break 
bread  with  them,  but  in  reality  facing  the  world. 

Muffet's  dark  eyes,  widely  set  and  roving  with  the 


58  The  Heart's  Justice 

shyness  of  introspection,  became  suddenly  focused. 
Soon  she  would  ask  Sterling,  "What  do  you  think  of 
my  father's  invention?"  not  thus  crudely  perhaps,  but 
in  substance  the  same,  and  she  would  judge  him  entirely 
by  his  reply.  Soon,  with  admirable  finesse,  she  had 
accomplished  the  query,  and  Sterling  was  searching 
about  for  some  delicate  material  in  which  to  clothe  his 
reply. 

"I  think  it  is  very  interesting,"  he  spoke  guardedly 
at  last,  "very  interestingly  thought  out.  I  recognize 
that,  theoretically,  it  is  sound.  But  in  practice  it  is 
hard  to  say  just  what  conditions  may  affect  it.  Per- 
sonally .  .  ." 

Muffet's  brow  was  sensitively  screwed  as  though  she 
thought  he  were  hedging,  but  Elijah  Moore  took  the 
doubt  in  good  faith,  wheeled  convulsively  from  his  con- 
templation of  the  canary,  and  vociferated, 

"Such  an  argument  has  been  raised  before,  Mr. 
Sterling,  and  we  always  tell  them " 

Old  David,  overtaking  him,  was  childishly  eager. 

"That  in  the  event  of  a  thorough  trial " 

But  Elijah  fairly  jumped  from  the  floor. 

"Not  at  all — that  wasn't  the  point  I  intended  to  make, 
David.  Will  you  or  will  you  not  allow  me  to  speak  ?" 

"But  whose  invention  is  it,  Elijah,  yours  or  mine?" 

"Yours,"  shouted  Elijah,  empurpled.  "I  wash  my 
hands  of  it !" 

Periodically  Elijah  was  given  to  flare  in  this  way; 
periodically  David,  irritated  by  the  friendly  interfer- 
ence without  which  it  is  doubtful  if  he  could  have  lived, 
trod  upon  Elijah's  toes.  "I  wash  my  hands  of  it," 
Elijah  would  cry  and  for  several  days  would  remain 
away,  courting  overtures  of  apology  from  his  friend. 
Then  the  reestablishment  of  the  old  intimacy  and  the 


The  Heart's  Justice  59 

assurance  from  David  that  Elijah,  was  the  foster  parent 
of  his  invention.  This  evening,  inopportunely,  they 
came  to  scratch,  but  before  the  peace-makers  could 
intervene  Vannie  appeared  on  the  threshold,  announcing 
supper. 

IV 

It  was  just  such  a  meal  as  one  would  have  anticipated 
in  such  a  house.  The  dining  room  slanted  like  the 
cabin  of  a  ship,  the  ceiling  brooded  low,  like  an  oriental 
typhoon,  but  they  ate,  from  a  wonderful  old  table  of 
Santo  Domingo  mahogany,  food  celestial.  Vannie 
moved  about  behind  them  in  starched  solemnity,  obse- 
quious and  heavy-footed.  When  the  meat  course  came 
David  excused  himself  with  a  look  of  sly  hospitality 
and  was  heard  descending  to  the  cellar.  Elijah  coughed 
decorously  and  fiddled  with  his  forks,  as  it  was  known 
to  him  that  in  honor  of  Sterling's  visit  they  were  to 
be  treated  to  Harlow's  most  venerable  vintage.  A 
tremor  of  intelligent  laughter  passed  over  the  face  of 
the  girl,  the  inaccessible  girl  who  might  be  so  precious 
if  one  were  allowed  to  know  her. 

Presently  here  was  old  David  returned  with  a  care- 
fully dusted  bottle.  As  he  hovered  at*a  side-table,  his 
back  eloquent  of  his  activity,  Vannie  passed  the  glasses. 
And  again  Elijah  coughed  and  fiddled  with  his  forks. 
There  was  to  Sterling  something  grotesque  in  this 
glee  of  a  cadaver.  Then  the  gratifying  explosion,  the 
impetuous  flow  of  champagne.  Muffet  crinkled  her 
nose  and  gave  Sterling  one  fleet,  shy  glance  of  conviv- 
iality, which  impelled  him  to  his  feet  in  premature 
intoxication, 


60  The  Heart's  Justice 

"To  the  invention,"  he  said  heartily,  "to  its  success- 
ful adoption !" 

"The  invention  .  .  ."  "The  invention  .  .  ."  an 
ecstatic  murmur. 

"Gentlemen,  I  thank  you!"  The  gray-haired,  cred- 
ulous old  man  was  bowing  his  nai've  complacence.  Never 
a  doubt  in  his  mind,  marveled  Sterling,  that  he  was  the 
winner  of  the  race. 

Swept  away  by  the  spirit  of  the  toast,  Muffet  Harlow 
slipped  from  her  chair  and  kissed  David  on  the  cheek. 

She  did  these  things,  thought  Sterling,  profoundly 
moved,  with  a  simplicity,  a  certain  lovely  merriment 
that  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  style. 

Though  as  yet  Muffet  had  "made"  no  conversation 
with  him,  he  was  completely  absorbed  by  her,  those 
fine,  smooth  hands,  like  separate  entities,  those  mental 
hands  that  could  not  darn  nor,  he  would  warrant,  cook 
or  sew,  but  that  had  expressions  of  their  own,  attitudes, 
thoughts.  Her  face  in  all  its  half -revelations  held  him. 
It  wondered  about  life  .  .  .  and  this  wonderment 
filled  Sterling  with  a  holy  amazement,  gripped  him  to 
the  point  of  pain.  .  .  . 

Moore  was  privileged  to  chaff  her  intimately.  Moore 
was  sixty  and  a  widower.  No  harm  in  that,  no  reason 
why  he  should  give  himself  such  airs  about  it.  The 
girl  was  tolerant  of  him  as  she  would  be  of  any  old 
harmless  fogy,  he  thought,  but  he  had  seen  laughter 
in  her  .eyes  over  the  .champagne,  over  the  quarrel. 

They  retired  to  the  sitting-room  and  Sterling  made 
bold 'for  ingratiation.  They  were,  after  all,  the  logical 
two  to  talk.  They  were  young,  Sterling's  thirty-five 
years  offsetting  Moore's  sixty — once  she  learned  how, 
she  would  find  it  healthier  to»consort  with  youth.  But 
being  a  bad  conversationalist  he  found  it  awkward  to 


The  Heart's  Justice  61 

make  a  beginning.  She  had,  apparently,  no  interests 
outside  her  home. 

"Do  you  go  often  to  Wedgewater,  Miss  Harlow?" 
He  was  as  wooden  as  that. 

"I  walk  in  every  day  to  market.  I  love  marketing. 
Father  says  when  you  see  it  as  an  esthetic  delight  it 
ceases  to  be  drudgery.  But  I  find  when  I  look  at  it 
that  way  I  forget  to  drive  bargains !" 

The  softest  laugh.  Such  a  rich,  considered  voice,  too. 
He  was  certainly  not  given  to  visualization,  but  as  she 
spoke  he  saw  her  voice,  silk  on  one  side  and  velvet  on 
the  other. 

"Have  you  friends  in  Wedgewater?" 

"No,  relatives."  Though  the  distinction  was  seri- 
ously made  he  suspected  her  of  playfulness. 

"But  surely  you  have  distractions  in  town,  you  attend 
church  gatherings  or — or  call  on  your  girl  friends,"  he 
ended  lamely. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  could  have  no  greater  friend  than  my  father." 

"Naturally  not  but  without  lesser  friends  as  well  I 
should  think  you  might  be  lonesome." 

"Why?" 

"Why?"  he  floundered  stupidly,  wishing,  of  course, 
to  express  the  well-founded  conviction  that  life  must 
not  be  narrowed  down  to  such  a  point. 

Muffet  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  chair  without 
much  creating  the  impression  of  permanency.  Also 
Sterling  was  aware  that  just  outside  their  range  of  talk 
lean  Elijah  hovered.  His  troubled  intuition  told  him 
that  Elijah  was  about  to  pounce  upon  them  and  end  it 
all  by  taking  Muffet  away.  He  had  actually  burrowed 
in  some  closet  or  other  and  found  the  checker  board 
and  the  intention  of  checkers  shone  in  his  eyes.  Yes, 


62  The  Heart's  Justice 

surely  lie  would  pounce  .  .  .  But  in  the  mean- 
time  

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Sterling,  greatly  pressed, 
his  eyes  resting  upon  the  cloudy  head  of  the  girl  now 
bent  in  the  faintest  boredom.  "I  don't  understand  how 
you  manage  to  live  without  coming  in  contact  with 
people.  There  are  so  many  organizations  that  tend  to 
draw  together — to  unify — the  church,  as  I  said  before 
and  the  clubs " 

She  laughed  a  shade  ironically. 

"They  wouldn't  care  for  us." 

"You  mean  you  wouldn't  care  for  them  ?"  His  face 
was  scarlet. 

She  raised  him  candid  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that's  what  I  meant!" 

"Why,  see  here,"  he  guarded  savagely  against  the 
invasion  of  Moore.  "We've  a  great  crowd  of  young 
people  down  at  our  church.  I  attend  the  First  Congre- 
gational— not  from  any  strong  sectarian  preference,  you 
understand,  but  because  it  was  the  first  one  I  happened 
to  go  to  when  I  came  to  Wedgewater."  He  said  that 
with  a  large  magnanimity,  an  assumption  of  broadness 
which  made  her  smile.  People  of  his  stamp,  she  mused 
astutely,  contended  that  all  branches  of  Christianity 
were  one  to  them,  whereas  in  reality  they  were  incapable 
of  intensive  religion;  they  found  no  glory  in  the  stars 
save  as  a  form  of  convenient  incandescence.  She  saw 
his  well-intentioned  enthusiasm,  his  probable  all-round- 
ness and  popularity  behind  the  statement.  She  saw  him 
as  a  man  not  only  executive  in  business  but  a  community 
lover  as  well.  She  saw  him  handing  down  Christmas 
cornucopias  to  a  band  of  boys  and  girls  no  less  enthusi- 
astic than  himself.  Strange,  book-bred  divinations 


The  Heart's  Justice  63 

on  the  part  of  an  innocent  girl  who  had  really  never 
lived  at  all,  they  were  astonishingly  correct. 

"If  you  don't  go  to  town  how  do  you  spend  your 
days  ?"  he  was  hurling  at  her  desperately.  Oh,  Elijah 
Moore ! 

"I  waste  them/'  she  answered  perversely,  "on  any- 
thing that  catches  my  fancy.  And  Sundays  we  walk 
all  day,  my  father  and  I  ..." 

My  father  again.    What  adulation  in  the  word ! 

"Even  if  it  rains  ?" 

"Even  if  it  rains,  it's  irresistible  then.  The  rab- 
bits are  hopping  about  and  the  wild  geese  flying.  We're 
all  over  mud  and  mad  as  March  hares !" 

Elijah  was  imminent  with  the  red  and  black  checker 
board  under  his  arm. 

"Will  you,"  asked  Sterling,  "that  is  would  you  and 
your  father  dine  with  me  at  the  Mohawk  some  time 
soon  ?" 

The  spirit  of  the  rainy  day,  so  elfin  in  its  appearance, 
withdrew  from  her  eyes, 

"You  are  very  kind." 

Again  she  was  remote,  defiant,  not  for  cultivation. 
The  truth  came  to  Sterling  startlingly, — "These  people 
have  been  hurt  .  .  ." 

"And  what,"  old  Moore  was  chirping  at  her  elbow, 
"would  you  say  to  a  game  of  checkers  ?" 

He  had  pounced. 


Chapter  VII 


LATEK  Sterling  was  taking  Moore  home  in  his 
car  and  engaging  in  a  rather  one-sided  conver- 
sation. It  was  a  sweet,  stabbing  autumn  night, 
bright  stars  above  hanging  in  uneven  lengths  as  though 
pendant  from  invisible  chains.  The  wind  blew  in  a 
great  scythe,  the  whole  earth  seemed  in  passage,  and 
Sterling's  machine,  projecting  its  own  vision  before  it, 
slid  smoothly,  knowingly  along  the  asphalt  road.  Be- 
side him  Moore  sprawled  in  the  low  roadster  like  a 
discarded  scarecrow,  his  feet  extended  stiffly  before 
him,  his  mustache  askew,  and  one  ungloved,  bony  hand 
clutching  at  his  hat.  He  was  unaccustomed  to  motor 
cars  and  Sterling's  facility  in  handling  the  thing 
amazed  him.  He  was  proud  to  be  so  endangered,  so 
jeopardized,  but  not,  as  Sterling  finally  comprehended, 
quite  up  to  conversation. 

"Fine  people,  the  Harlows !"  was  the  younger  man's 
obvious  bait  as  they  spun  beneath  the  night. 

Moore  turned  his  head  like  an  automaton,  but  imme- 
diately faced  front  again,  his  tear-blinded  eyes  respon- 
sible to  the  road. 

"Oh  yes,  the  Harlows — va-ry  fine  folks!" 
"You've  known  them  a  long  time,  I  take  it  ?" 
"Ha,    thirty    years — leastways    Dave.       There's — 
there's  a  team  ahead!" 

"Yes,  I  see  it.  These  fellows  ought  to  carry  lights. 
Thirty  years,  you  say?  That  is  a  long  time.  Have 
they  always  lived  out  there  ?" 

64 


The  Heart's  Justice  65 

"What-say?     Wind  blows  so  hard  can't  hearyear!" 

"I  merely  asked  if  they  had  always  lived  in  the  old 
house." 

"Oh,  well,  practically.  The  place  is  kinder  run 
down  now  but  it  was  a  mighty  fine  house  in  its  day." 

"I  can  see  that,"  mused  Sterling,  and,  typically,  "it 
needs  paint,  and  a  lot  of  fixin' !" 

He  broke  off  to  negotiate  a  corner  and  Moore's  sigh 
of  relief  could  be  heard  above  the  night  wind. 

"Guess  you  didn't  mean  to  take  that  quite  so  fast!" 
A  nervous  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  knew  I  could  make  it." 

The  younger  man's  profile  bent  above  the  wheel  was 
speculative.  There  was  something  in  connection  with 
the  Harlows  which  he  did  not  understand.  Old  Harlow 
was  not  a  widower,  that  much  he  had  ascertained,  but 
neither  was  there  any  mention  of  a  near  or  remote  Mrs. 
Harlow.  The  girl  and  her  father  had  lived  alone  for 
many  years;  their  conversation  compassed  only  the 
fact  of  each  other!  But  their  very  inbred  gentleness 
made  the  possibility  of  a  family  estrangement  difficult 
to  imagine.  What,  then,  was  the  explanation?  What 
was  he  supposed  to  think? 

"And  Mrs.  Harlow,"  he  mused  a  trifle  too  carelessly, 
"is  dead,  I  suppose  ?" 

Under  the  darkness  the  color  mounted  his  cheek. 
Moore's  hesitation  seemed  to  accuse  him  of  prying. 

"No,"  came  Elijah's  voice  against  the  wind,  "she's 
alive — fur  as  I  know."  That  was  all. 

Sterling  felt  the  rebuff  and  wished  that  he  had  not 
chosen  so  unpropitious  a  time  for  his  question.  He 
was  frankly  curious  about  Mrs.  Harlow  but  not  from 
the  idle  standpoint  of  the  gossip;  it  was  rather  that 
he  wished  to  understand  the  Harlows  intelligently. 


66  The  Heart's  Justice 

Wedgewater's  main  thoroughfare,  its  new  and  scin- 
tillating "white  way"  lay  before  them,  a  long  vista  of 
bubbles.  But  Sterling  was  not  through  with  Moore, 
not  half  through  with  him.  It  was  unprofitable  to 
attempt  talk  out-of-doors  with  the  anemic  little  man 
whose  one  available  and  listening  feature  appeared  to 
be  his  nose.  But  suppose  they  were  supping  in  some 
mellow  place  .  .  . 

"Where  do  you  live,  Mr.  Moore?"  he  temporized 
pleasantly. 

"Division  Street,  forty,"  replied  Elijah,  gradually 
emerging  from  his  overcoat.  "But  you  can  drop  me 
anywhere.  I  still  got  the  use  o'  my  legs."  A  high 
cackle. 

"I  was  thinking,"  came  the  magnificent  suggestion, 
"that  you  might  like  to  stop  in  a  while  at  my  apartment 
and  have  someting  to  warm  you.  It's  not  exactly  a 
June  night!" 

Sterling  had  eased  to  stop  before  the  effulgent  Mo- 
hawk and  was  hopefully  slipping  the  gear  into  neutral. 

"I  live  here,  you  know!" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  admitted  Moore  fluttering  in  his 
scarecrow  fashion,  recalling  his  embarrassment  anent 
Mrs.  Harlow  and  with  his  weather  eye  cocked  for 
further  catechism. 

If  Sterling  just  wanted  to  pump  him — But  there  had 
been  the  mention  of  something  warming,  which  unques- 
tionably meant  a  nip,  and  the  cold  night  had  made 
Elijah  more  than  usually  vulnerable.  He  hesitated  and 
his  will  went  flabby. 

"Don't  care  if  I  do,"  he  surrendered  sheepishly  and 
climbed  out  in  a  flurry_  of  excitement. 

During  the  five  years  of  its  existence  he  had  never 
entered  the  Mohawk,  one  of  a  chain  of  modern  hotels 


The  Heart's  Justice  67 

indigenous  to  the  state.  Yet  he  had  shunned  it  through 
no  lack  of  interest.  In  fact,  all  during  its  course  of 
construction  he  had  made  it  the  destination  of  his 
Sunday  walk,  poking  about  over  the  broken  ground 
with  his  inquisitive  stick,  and  later  admiring  its  im- 
posing proportions  with  civic  pride.  No,  his  desertion 
of  it,  his  failure  to  become  a  patron  lay  rather  in  the 
lean  superstition  that  it  cost  you  "a  dollar  a  minute" 
to  go  inside.  Now  he  followed  Sterling  across  the  big 
shining  foyer,  with  its  marble  columns,  and  its  Byzan- 
tine tiles,  its  sweeping  luxury  of  chairs  and  rugs  and 
electricity,  into  a  rococo  elevator  as  large  as  an  office. 
The  hotel  was  comparable  to  the  man  in  whose  wake  he 
followed,  built  on  a  strong  foundation,  and  always 
adding  another  story  to  its  height. 

So  far  no  one  had  demanded  toll  of  Elijah  and  he 
alighted  with  relief  at  the  seventh  floor.  The  corridors 
were  confusing;  it  was  wonderful  how  Sterling  knew 
his  way..  Before  a  certain  door  he  paused,  fumbled  for 
his  key-ring  and  admitted  Moore  to  those  impersonal 
rooms  of  his  where  he  was  supposed  to  be  living  in  the 
lap  of  luxury.  To  right  and  left  he  snapped  on  lights 
so  that  Elijah  winced  and  dodged  the  glare — he  felt 
exposed  somehow.  But  impressed.  Oh,  distinctly  so. 
There  was  the  hotel-like  reception  room  with  an  obese 
velvet  sofa  and  two  fat  offspring  in  the  form  of  chairs, 
quite  a  family  of  heavyweights.  They  sat  about  in 
vapid  splendor  like  persons  with  not  much  to  occupy 
their  minds.  Adjacent  to  this  salon  Moore  glimpsed 
the  bedchamber,  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  maid.  The 
bed  had  been  turned  down — that  was  one  of  the  offices 
they  performed  for  you  at  the  Mohawk — and  the  stiff, 
white  linen  looked  arbitrary  and  cold  as  marble.  Then 
there  was  "the  den,"  only  a  shade  less  concise  and 


68  The  Heart's  Justice 

empty  but  to  Moore's  eyes  beyond  criticism.  His  eyes 
dwelt  upon  the  gory  leather  chairs. 

"My,  my,"  he  said  with  restrained  admiration,  "how 
comfortable  you  must  be !" 

"Oh,  yes,"  agreed  Sterling  'dubiously,  wondering 
why  he  could  not  effuse  as  heartily  as  he  wished.  "Take 
off  your  coat  and  we'll  sit  in  here.  It's  more  homelike 
somehow.  I'll  ring  for  a  waiter  .  .  ." 

As  he  gave  the  order  over  the  telephone  Moore  re- 
moved his  overcoat  and  warmed  his  hands  at  the  radi- 
ator which  was  concealed  under  an  ornamental  lattice. 
They  subsided  comfortably  in  the  catsup-colored  chairs 
and  made  desultory  conversation,  in  anticipation  of  the 
waiter  who  appeared  almost  immediately.  Like  a  well- 
rounded  robin  he  eyed  little  Moore,  a  winter  bird  that 
wanted  feeding,  a  sparrow  in  poor  circumstances. 

"Bring  us  some  sandwiches,"  directed  Sterling. 
"What  would  you  say,  Mr.  Moore,  to  some  toast  and 
caviar  ?" 

"Anything,  anything,"  Moore  waved  his  hand 
humbly,  though  his  heart  fell  at  the  thought  of  caviar 
which  he  had  always  heard  associated  with  ptomaine 
poison. 

"Caviar,"  nodded  Sterling,  "and  some  orange  juice 
and  ice." 

Why  orange  juice,  wondered  Moore  who,  belonging 
to  the  old  school,  was  unfamiliar  with  the  ingredients 
of  a  cocktail  and  its  modus  operandi.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible Sterling  would  offer  him  a  cold  drink  on  such  a 
night?  Quelling  his  anxiety,  he  found  a  sick  smile 
and  wore  it  on  his  face,  determined  to  be  appreciative 
whatever  sort  of  refreshment  he  was  given.  But  the 
production  on  the  part  of  his  host  of  a  bottle  of  Bicardi 
rum,  and  other  spectacular  liquors  made  his  heart  to 


The  Heart's  Justice  69 

purr  and  simmer  like  a  tea-kettle  before  boiling.  The 
sandwiches  came  and  after  the  first  sip  of  cocktail  he 
ventured  upon  one,  then  another  and  another.  Sterling 
ate  caviar  but  to  Moore's  great  surprise  he  let  the  drink 
alone. 

"I  keep  it  for  my  friends,"  he  explained  with  entire 
truth  and  Moore,  looking  at  him,  understood  why  he 
was  so  wholesome-looking,  with  frosty  blue  eyes  unob- 
scured  and  a  skin  like  a  boy's. 

The  conversation  was  now  a  derrick  which  Sterling 
could  swing  at  will,  so  he  talked  of  the  invention. 

"It's  well  thought  out,"  he  said  again.  "It  amazes 
me.  And  yet  it's  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
that  a  man  all  his  life  associated  with  the  Deisel  engine 
should  have  taken  this  line  of  improvement.  The 
valves  have  always  been  noisy !" 

"Yes,"  said  Moore,  "and  dirty.  I've  been  on  the 
subs  when  I've  wondered  how  the  men  could  stand 
>em." 

"It  bowls  me  over,"  continued  Sterling,  "when  I 
think  of  the  men  who  are  probably  engaged  in  experi- 
menting along  the  same  line !  When  I  think  that  right 
in  our  own  shop — well,  I  can't  believe  in  it  yet.  And 
still  the  model  appears  to  function  perfectly.  A  remark- 
able thing  about  it  is  the  easily  controlled  latitude  of 
valve  actions  in  regard  to  opening  and  closing " 

"With  provision  for  ample  cooling,"  interrupted 
Moore,  his  glass  aslant,  "don't  forget  that,  so  that  the 
parts  subject  to  heat  can  be  kept  within  a  safe  working 
temperature  and  not  subject  to  warping." 

"I  know,"  nodded  Sterling  thoughtfully,  "all  valves 
of  the  conventional  poppet  type  have  been  susceptible 
to  warping  unless  equipped  with  some  cooling  system, 
always  of  questionable  reliability." 


70  The  Heart's  Justice 

Thus  they  wanned  to  their  theme. 

"He's  kept  his  ideas  pretty  close,  hasn't  he?"  from 
Sterling. 

Moore  grinned. 

"He's  never  let  any  one  in  on  'em  but  me.  Now  it 
don't  matter.  He's  got  his  papers  clear.  And  when 
this  valve  is  adopted — I  say  when  it  is — there's  some 
people  in  town  will  sit  up  an'  take  notice.  Crack- 
brained  dreamer,  they  call  him,  old  Harlow,  a  plodder ! 
Ha !"  Moore  submitted  to  having  his  glass  refilled. 
"You're  going  to  work  for  it,  with  the  company,  I  mean  ? 
You  saw  enough  to-day  to  convince  you  of  its  possi- 
bilities. 

"Yes,"  murmured  Sterling,  very  far  away,  "seeing  is 
believing.  And  I'll  do  what  I  can.  But  it  may  mean 
a  long  time,  Moore,  a  long  time.  And  much  oppo- 
sition  " 

He  broke  away  from  his  speculative  spell. 

"Tell  me,"  he  asked  abruptly,  "has  Mr.  Harlow 
always  been  so — well,  a  moment  ago  you  called  him  'a 
plodder'  ?" 

"David,"  mused  Moore,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair  and  looking  lovingly  upon  his  third  drink,  "was 
quite  a  nervy  young  fellow  in  his  day.  Handsome 
as  fire,  polished  too,  and  a  real  catch  with  his  prospects 
and  all.  He  inherited  a  tidy  bit  from  his  father — at 
least  it  was  something  to  build  on — but  he  married  an 
extravagant  wife  and  she  went  right  straight  through 
the  whole  business,  yes  sir,  she  turned  his  pockets  inside 
out,  you  might  say,  and  what  he  hadn't  lost,  she  spent." 

Sterling  moistened  his  mouth. 

"And  what  was  she  like,  this  Mrs.  Harlow?" 

Moore  took  a  deep  breath. 


The  Heart's  Justice  71 

"She  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  that  ever  stepped 
foot  in  Wedgewater." 

"Whew,  you  don't  say?" 

Moore  nodded. 

"An'  David  was  all  hands  and  feet  about  her,  hands 
an'  feet  an'  solemnity,"  he  added,  pleased  with  the 
coining  of  the  phrase.  "She'd  knock  your  eye  out, 
she  would." 

"Was  she  like — Muffet — I  mean  Miss  Harlow?" 

"Well,"  demurred  Moore,  "I  can't  say  she  was. 
Muffet  took  from  the  other  side.  Muffet  looks  softer 
somehow — softer." 

Sterling  was  leaning  forward. 

"They've  been  alone  some  time  now?" 

"Yep,  Dave  and  the  girl.  It's  wonderful  what's 
between  'em.  Lord,  it  wouldn't  do  to  whisper  in  her 
presence  that  her  father  hasn't  done  as  well  as  he 
might  'a'  done,  shoved  ahead,  I  mean.  Seems  like 
she's  as  set  about  him  bein'  a  great  man  as  her  mother 
was  set  agin  it.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Muffet  I  daresay 
Dave  would  have  gone  down  an'  out.  He's  not  made 
o'  stout  stuff,  more's  the  pity.  I  daresay  he  would  have 
got  plum  discouraged  at  times  without  his  girl  to  buck 
him  up.  But  she's  made  him  a  devoted  daughter.  An' 
somehow  they've  never  wanted  any  one  else  in  the  house, 
though  there  was  quite  a  pa'cel  of  women  folks  would 
have  been  glad  to  come,  aunts  and  what-not.  There's 
one  now  that  swarms  on  'em  every  year,  hopeful-like 
they'll  let  her  stay.  She's  one  o'  those  long-livers.  But 
she'll  never  git  in,  not  if  I  know  the  Harlows !" 

Sterling  was  tapping  the  arms  of  his  chair,  a  frown 
caught  between  his  brows. 

"But  good  God !"  The  exclamation  was  ripped  from 
him.  "Harlow  can't  live  forever  and  then  what's  to 


72  The  Heart's  Justice 

become  of  her,  the  girl,  I  mean  ?    She  ought  to  marry." 

Moore  took  a  complacent  swallow. 

"She  never  will.     Xo,  sir,  I  doubt  if  she  ever  will." 

"Why  not?" 

"Wouldn't  leave  her  father.  Besides  she's  not  the 
kind  of  girl  that  gets  to  know  men.  But,  pshaw,  she'd 
make  the  sweetest  wife  a  man  could  want  if  only  he 
could  get  her  to  see  it  that  way.  I  tell  you  what,  if  I 
was  a  lit-tle  younger  and  better  looking " 

"Ha,"  laughed  Sterling  prematurely. 

He  knew  that  Moore  was  going  to  say  he  would  speak 
for  her  himself,  a  little  joke  of  his,  no  doubt,  but, 
regarding  Moore,  the  dilapidated  old  fellow,  it  did  not 
appeal  to  Sterling  as  a  very  good  one.  He  had  an 
aversion  to  hearing  it  completed. 

"Of  course,"  he  took  up  a  trifle  belligerently,  "it's 
absolutely  no  business  of  mine,  but  I  can't  help  won- 
dering about  this  Mrs.  Harlow  and  why  she  didn't 
stick  to  the  ship.  It's  a  bit  odd,  their  never  mention- 
ing her,  you'll  admit  ?  One  is  entitled  to  one's  thoughts 
and  from  the  fact  that  she  has  dropped  away  from 
their  lives  I  infer ' 

But  by  now  Elijah  Moore  had  reached  the  plane 
of  audacity  where  he  would  have  slapped  the  proverbial 
lion  in  the  face.  He  had  lost  his  awe  of  Sterling,  who 
still  sat  coldly  and  stupidly  sober,  plaguing  him  with 
questions. 

"Young  man,"  said  Elijah,  making  his  hand  soar 
upon  the  air,  "you  jest  go  right  on  supposin'  an'  infer- 
rin',  cuz  there's  no  one  in  this  town  could  tell  you 
anything  about  her."  There  was  something  terribly 
comic  in  his  insolent  eye  and  the  voice  that  was  just 
beginning  to  misbehave.  "I  could,"  he  added  per- 
versely, "but  I  won't!" 


Chapter  Fill 


WHETHER  or  not  it  was  pleasant  to  waken 
in  the  old  house  on  Wedgewater  Road 
depended  upon  whether  or  not  you  were  a 
member  of  the  Harlow  family.  There  was  that  about 
the  old  house  which  would  not  let  one  forget  for  an 
instant  the  line  of  descent. 

Muffet  never  forgot  it,  when  she  was  walking  the 
mile  to  market  with  a  basket  over  her  arm,  or  bickering 
friendlily  with  Vannie,  or  cutting  hickory  whistles  with 
her  father  in  the  spring. 

As  for  David,  the  consciousness  of  race  was  the  fine 
staff  which  upheld  him  in  all  disappointments  or  fail- 
ures. A  recluse,  yes,  but  it  was  for  Nature's  purposes 
that  he  conserved  his  strength  and  the  essence  of  his 
personality.  Emerson  wrote:  "Nature  protects  her 
own  work.  To  the  culture  of  the  world  an  Archimedes, 
a  Newton  is  indispensable;  so  she  guards  them  by  a 
certain  aridity.  If  these  had  been  good  fellows,  fond 
of  dancing,  port  and  clubs,  we  should  have  had  no 
'Theory  of  the  Sphere'  and  no  'Principia'.  They  had 
that  necessity  of  isolation  which  genius  feels."  And 
Ibsen:  "Think  it  over,  my  dear  B.  A  man's  gifts  are 
not  a  property.  They  are  a  duty." 

So  David  was  often  in  his  workshop  before  dawn,  a 
bleak  enough  figure,  unshaven,  and  with  the  wan  light 

73 


74  The  Heart's  Justice 

of  early  morning  playing  the  enemy  to  his  youth. 
And  David  was  at  his  drawings  in  the  shop  the  span 
of  the  day,  always  thinking  like  an  inventor,  looking 
forward  jealously  to  the  free,  earned  time  of  the 
evening.  He  never  knew  what  clothes  he  was  wearing, 
nor  in  what  pitiable  condition  they  were  become  by 
his  own  negligence  and  Muffet's  worse  thrift  of  mend- 
ing; but  Ah,  David  with  an  unpaid  bill  in  his  pocket 
was  the  merriest  of  playfellows  on  a  holiday,  the 
merriest  and  tenderest,  so  that  it  was  small  wonder 
Muffet  loved  him,  defended  him  against  all  the  world, 
and  with  her  maternal  needs  so  filled,  gave  no  thought 
to  the  normal  woman's  future  that  might  well  be  in 
store  for  her. 

Her  day  went  something  in  this  wise.  Either  she 
was  prompt  and  breakfasted  with  her  father  or  she 
overslept  and  found  under  her  door  the  inevitable  little 
note  that  was  both  a  bulletin  and  a  leave-taking.  On 
this  particular  morning  she  opened  her  eyes  delib- 
erately a  little  late  and  rested  in  pleasant  deferment 
of  that  moment  when  she  must  don  clothing  and  per- 
sonality and  begin  once  more  to  be  a  Harlow.  The 
bed  in  which  she  lay  would  have  been  accounted  rare 
among  antiquarians.  Muffet  had  slept  in  it  for  many 
years  and  her  dreams  had  been  tranquil  ones.  At  night 
her  father  kissed  her  many  times,  almost  as  a  lover 
might  have  done,  and  said,  "Rest  well,  my  darling," 
with  always  the  deepening  note  of  feeling,  of  finality. 

Then  Muffet  went  to  bed  and  read  by  a  candle,  or  lay 
marveling  over  the  strange  cubistic  designs  made  by 
the  moonlight  on  the  gabled  walls.  She  read  a  great 
deal  and  with  discrimination;  like  David  she  had  a 
whimsical  mind  that  went  always  to  the  unobvious 
phases  of  things  .  .  .  And  sometimes  she  thought 


The  Heart's  Justice  75 

of  love,  as  she  had  learned  it  in  the  realm  of  literature. 
But  she  simply  and  honestly  knew  no  need  of  it  for 
herself.  No  doubt  for  the  simple  reason  that  the 
maternal  side  of  her  nature  was  abnormally  developed 
and  fulfilled.  Her  whole  concentrated  being  was  in  the 
love  she  gave  her  father. 

And  always  on  waking  she  lay  thinking  of  him  with 
a  strange,  mature,  mirthful  indulgence.  No  doubt  he 
had  gone.  The  room  was  garrulous  with  sunlight — a 
simple  sort  of  room,  good  to  wake  in.  The  furniture 
was  dignified,  the  floor  painted  and  islanded  with  New 
England  hooked  rugs.  The  walls  about  which  the  sun 
now  played  in  vibratory,  deep-sea  waverings,  were  in 
flowery,  faded  decoration.  The  few  articles  of  the 
bureau  and  high-boy  sufficed  for  her  simple  needs.  An 
innocent  room,  but  not  a  young  girl's  room  in  the 
stereotyped  sense.  Far  from  it.  No  photographs 
picturesquely  inscribed.  No  souvenirs  of  this  or  that 
"prom,"  this  or  that  football  game.  Nothing  of  the 
sort.  This  girl  has  been  much  alone.  She  has  no 
giddy  young  friends  with  whom  she  has  become  easily 
allied.  They  would  think  her  old-fashioned.  And  she 
would  think  them  dull  in  comparison  to  her  father. 
Muffet  is  not  a  prig,  she  is  only  intolerant  with  a  hot, 
high-handed  pride  which  is  the  youngest  thing  about 
her.  Will  her  pride  ever  be  cured?  It  has  been  so 
sore  and  for  so  long  a  time,  ever  since  she  started  feel- 
ing like  the  parent  of  her  father.  .  .  . 

In  school  that  autumn  she  had  deliberately  written 
her  name  as  "Muffet."  Muffet  Harlow — hence  much 
laughter  and  chiding.  The  teacher  had  protested  and 
the  children  had  giggled  and  pointed  the  finger  of  scorn 
at  her  behind  their  books. 


76  The  Heart's  Justice 

'Tittle  Miss  Muffet,  she  sat  on  a  tuffet,  eating  her  Curds 

and  Whey, 

When  along  came  a  spider  and  sat  down  beside  her  and 
frightened  Miss  Muffet  away." 

"But  surely  you  were  not  christened  that  ?"  pursued 
the  teacher. 

"Yes,"  she  had  lied  miserably. 

For  Muffet  was  a  supersensitive  and  she  had  seen 
her  father's  face  that  morning  when  old  Vannie,  then 
young  Vannie,  had  called  her  Rhoda.  "Let's  have  it 
Muffet,"  he  had  said,  and  in  his  hearing  no  one  ever 
spoke  the  name  Rhoda  again.  Rolf  Sterling  had  divined 
of  them,  these  people  have  been  hurt,  but  he  was 
far  from  knowing  what  ate  into  their  proud  hearts. 


Muffet  slid  from  bed  with  pink  toes  shrinking  and 
curling  till  they  fumbled  their  way  into  bath  slippers. 
Her  slender  young  body  in  a  slip  of  nightgown  shiv- 
ered against  the  morning  cold.  Her  face  was  pale  be- 
neath the  great  mop  of  thick,  stubbornly  curled  hair 
that  came  only  to  her  shoulders.  She  yawned  and 
stretched  her  arms,  tautening  her  body  till  it  was  tall 
and  arrowy,  delightfully  boyish,  but  with  firm  young 
breasts  no  larger  than  apples  that  made  the  delicate 
woman  of  her.  She  anticipated  her  father's  note  and 
found  it,  and,  having  sought  comfort  in  a  wrapper, 
proceeded  to  read.  It  was  written  on  a  piece  of  com- 
mon paper  torn  from  a  flour  bag  and  said, 

"I'm  off,  my  pet,  while  you  slumber.  Cat  in  the 
kitchen  attending  to  its  whiskers.  Been  a  fracas  of 
mice  all  night  as  evidenced  by  cheese  on  pantry  floor. 
Must  set  trap.  Made  mention  of  it  to  Nicodemus 


The  Heart's  Justice  77 

[!N"icodemus  was  the  negligent  mouser]  but  no  signs  of 
shame.  Dreamed  last  night  the  factory  was  making 
our  engine,  and  you  and  I  dining  from  gold  dinner 
service.  P.  S.  Like  as  not  plated."  And  across  the 
bottom  ran  a  childish  fence  of  kisses. 

Muffet  laughed  and  dwelt  for  a  time  in  her  father's 
missive  which  had  shaken  her  completely  awake.  And 
soon  she  was  on  her  way  to  her  bath,  her  slippers  clack- 
ing carelessly  over  the  bare  floors,  her  nostrils  sniffing 
approvingly  the  faint  aroma  of  bacon  which  now  per- 
meated the  house. 

Later,  emerging,  there  was  Vannie,  tiptoeing  in 
elephantine  fashion  up  the  stairs  and  pausing  to  rest 
heavily  on  the  gate  at  the  top. 

"So  yo'se  awake,  is  you,  Miss  Muffet?  Yo'  break- 
fast on  de  back  ob  de  stove  I" 

This  was  supposed  to  be  a  reproach;  in  reality  it 
partook  of  the  nature  of  a  threat,  the  back  of  the  stove 
representing  in  Vannie's  mind  a  cold  storage  region  of 
utter  resignation.  When  Muffet  or  her  father  had 
stretched  her  elastic  patience  to  the  snapping  point  she 
would  always  say  with  a  great,  lugubrious  mouth,  "Yo' 
dinner  on  de  back  ob  de  stove."  In  the  present  case 
it  was  a  fondly  false  statement.  She  would  boil  an 
egg  and  make  fresh  toast  once  she  was  able  to  focus  her 
eye  on  the  delinquent  below  stairs. 

And  that  was  precisely  what  she  did,  when  Muffet 
was  seated  in  the  room  which  slanted  like  the  cabin  of 
a  ship.  The  girl  had  more  color  now  and  her  clear 
complexion  was  set  off  by  the  heavy  coral  brooch  which 
she  wore  as  the  one  adornment  of  a  plain  dress.  Up- 
stairs in  the  attic  were  trunk  after  trunk  of  feminine 
clothes,  all  of  the  rich  texture  of  a  bygone  day,  and 
these  were  being  constantly  remade  for  Muffet.  Her 


78  The  Heart's  Justice 

heavy  black  velvets  and  taffetas  and  poplins  seemed  to 
catch  her  back  into  a  softer  age  of  women ;  she  was  per- 
petually a  person  in  a  frame. 

Now  she  sat,  a  shabby  young  aristocrat,  in  the  shabby 
old  house,  beautifully  unconscious  of  the  travesty  of 
her  position.  There  was  the  precious  odor  of  good 
coffee,  good  toast,  and  an  egg  precisely  pondered.  And 
Vannie  in  and  out,  in  and  out,  obsequious,  painstaking, 
making  a  little  ceremony  of  the  breakfast.  And  a 
continual  talk  between  them  anent  David,  an  absolutely 
absurd  and  solemn  conversation  that  had  only  to  do 
with  him.  How  he  had  felt  about  the  dinner  a  few 
nights  previous,  what  he  had  most  enjoyed,  what  he  had 
said  later  to  Vannie  in  the  kitchen,  the  possibility  that 
he  would  eat  a  mutton  chop  that  night.  .  .  .  But 
to-day  Vannie  dared  an  innovation.  She  began  delib- 
erately to  speak  of  Mr.  Sterling,  Mr.  Rolf  Sterling,  in 
terms  of  the  highest  praise. 

"He  looks  lak  he's  mebbe  got  two,  three  thousan' 
dollars  laid  by  cool  an'  handy.  Yas,  Mis'  Muffet,  an' 
he  could  buy  whatever-all  he  hab  in  mind  fo'  de  right 
leddy.  .  .  ." 

"Now  you're  being  subtle,  Vannie,"  Muffet  remarked 
dryly,  "but  the  motive  underlying  your  remarks  does  not 
escape  me.  Do  I  need  anything  that  I  don't  already 
possess  ?" 

Oh,  that  stubborn  Harlow  pride.  Vannie  hung  her 
head. 

"Dey's  times  we  do  skinch,  Mis'  Muffet,  dey's  suttinly 
times  we  do  skinch,"  she  intimated  darkly,  then,  bright- 
ening, "but  hit's  fittin'  an'  proper  a  young  leddy  ob 
yo'  looks  an*  talents  should  be  united  in  bonds  ob  wed- 
lock. .  .  ." 

Muffet  covered  her  ears.     Vannie's  wide  ducklike 


The  Heart's  Justice  79 

mouth  quacked  on.  ...  At  the  end  of  five  minutes, 
having  heard  the  entire  argument,  Muffet  deigned  her 
condescension. 

"You  wouldn't  understand,  Vannie,  you  simply 
wouldn't  understand.  I'd  as  soon  think  of  falling — I'd 
as  soon  think  of  romance  in  connection  with  Elijah 
Moore  as  this  Mr.  Rolf  Sterling " 

"Now,  fo'  de  Lawd,"  lamented  Vannie  with  eyes  to 
the  ceiling  and  the  bacon  platter  lifted  like  a  votive 
offering,  "Ah  knows  dat  yo'  is  failin'  in  yo'  mind!" 

So  they  bickered. 


in 


At  nine  o'clock  she  went  to  market,  walking  the  mile 
to  the  stores  along  Wedgewater  Road.  The  morning 
was  a  buoyant  one,  informed  by  sunlight,  and  with  one 
of  those  racing  skies  of  Autumn.  Where  the  cloud 
shadows  skimmed  across  wooded  hills  there  were  long 
amethyst  shadows  upon  the  pink  and  brown  and  these 
were  constantly  changing,  reshaping.  The  marshes 
were  still  rich  in  rust;  the  blue-jays  a  flash  of  surprise, 
a  color-thrust  in  the  soul  long  to  be  remembered 
after  they  had  flown.  Nature  was  full  of  promise 
even  at  its  dismantling  and  Muffet  Harlow  felt  it 
gratefully. 

After  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  country  road  she 
was  on  asphalt,  beside  the  bay  and  stimulated  by  the 
sight  of  the  blue  water  fretted  into  a  million  little 
waves.  A  whelming  tide  went  out  to  sea  and  this  was 
the  highway  to  France,  to  Spain,  to  fabulous  countries 
she  had  never  seen,  but  with  which  she  felt  a  curious 
affinity.  And  now  she  was  in  the  sunny  shop  where  she 
marketed.  She  hated  buying  meat,  but  here  was  her 


8o  The  Heart's  Justice 

butcher,  one  whose  coarseness  was  somehow  impressed 
with  her,  though  her  purchases  were  ever  very  small, 
and  pay  was  slow.  He  stood  among  the  grotesque 
quarters  of  animals  hanging  like  hapless  Bluebeard's 
wives,  and  he  sharpened  his  knives  for  the  work  he  had 
to  do.  Already  his  apron  was  gored — his  straw  cuffs 
showing  marks  of  appalling  immersement,  his  hands 
alienated  from  any  personal  purposes,  and  he  smiled 
at  her  and  asked  her  what  she  would  have  to-day.  Oh, 
they  were  brave  men,  these  butchers,  brave  and  hardy 
in  their  profession.  She  pitied  them  for  not  knowing 
that  they  were  to  be  pitied.  She  felt  herself  a  coward, 
buying  squeamishly  and  only  looking  at  the  meat  when 
it  came  on  the  table.  Other  housewives  were  meticulous 
and  spoke  expertly  of  certain  cuts,  had  thrifty  ways  of 
utilizing  even  the  waste  portions.  Not  so  Muffet.  She 
gave  her  order  and  turned  her  back  to  make  a  pur- 
chase of  fruit.  When  that  was  done  her  meat  pack- 
age was  ready.  But  the  fruits  and  vegetables  engrossed 
her — the  great  globular  yellow  oranges  with  the  incense 
of  their  own  blossoms,  the  paler  lemon,  the  egg  plant  in 
its  thrilling  purple  veneer,  like  an  enormous  grape, 
apples,  too,  with  their  honest  cheeks,  and  the  snake- 
striped  watermelon.  She  liked  the  little  sprouts,  secret 
and  hard,  fresh  salad  and  greens  of  all  kinds;  she 
even  liked  the  dusty  brown  potato,  but  not  the  bourgeois 
squash  or  pumpkin  or  the  more  ordinary  turnip  and 
carrot.  .  .  . 

And  now  with  the  little  basket  filled  she  can  turn 
and  go.  But  no,  she  is  detained.  It  is  the  butcher, 
who  is  also  the  shop-owner.  He  takes  off  his  hat. 
"Miss  Harlow,  one  minute.  I'm  sorry  to  detain  you. 
It's  just  that  little  matter  about  the  account.  I'd  appre- 
ciate it  if  your  father " 


The  Heart's  Justice  81 

"Oh,  really,  hasn't  that  been  done  ?  He's  so  forget- 
ful— You  shall  have  a  check  at  once " 

A  smile  and  a  thanks,  another  smile  from  Muffet, 
whose  cheeks,  however,  are  crimson,  and  she  leaves 
the  store  with  high  head.  But  there  is  no  glory  left 
on  the  day — it  is  in  tatters. 

She  hurried  up  the  road  as  though  in  stress  to  leave 
the  burning  thought  behind.  .  .  .  She  cast  an  ac- 
cusing eye  as  though  she  would  blame  the  Ship  and 
Engine  factory  across  the  road,  that  untidy  pile  of 
brick  and  cement  slapped  down  by  the  water,  with  its 
busy,  begrimed,  smoking  chimneys,  its  appalling,  ava- 
ricious industry.  She  had  always  feared  it.  As  a 
child  it  had  been  merely  because  of  its  noise,  the 
incessant  clatter  of  air  chisels.  Now  it  stood  to  her  as 
a  symbol.  Over  there  somewhere,  her  father  labored 
from  seren  in  the  morning  till  six  at  night,  taking  his 
noonday  meal  from  a  box,  like  the  lesser  laborers.  Nat- 
urally he  did  not  sprawl  about  with  it  as  did  they, 
limp  on  the  grass  in  summer  like  dislocated  toys.  No, 
he  would  sit  tiredly  in  the  drafting  room,  speaking  a 
gentle  word  with  any  one  who  happened  to  be  near.  He 
would  perhaps  go  outside  a  minute  and  smoke.  He 
maintained  always  the  air  of  a  well-bred  man,  a  little 
set  in  his  ways.  Nevertheless  the  thought  was  distaste- 
ful to  Muffet;  tears  came  to  her  eyes  when  she  saw 
him  leave  in  the  morning  with  that  telltale  box  and 
come  home  with  it  at  night. 

The  day  passed  with  her  reading  and  sewing  and 
now  all  the  afflicting  thoughts  of  the  morning  were  put 
away,  and  she  prepared  for  her  father.  She  made  the 
fire  bright,  looked  to  the  table  a  hundred  times,  brought 
the  day's  paper  and  spread  it  conveniently,  found  his 
slippers,  combed  the  cat  She  made  herself  extra- 


82  The  Heart's  Justice 

ordinarily  attractive,  with  a  bright  ribbon  at  her  waist. 
And  he  came  as  he  had  been  coming  all  these  years, 
haggard,  handsome,  moved  to  be  taking  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissing  her,  his  rare  guarded  child.  And  always 
a  little  jest.  "Did  you  walk  ?"  she  asks. 

"No,  the  President  of  the  United  States  rode  by  and 
gave  me  a  lift." 

So  their  days,  one  after  the  other. 


Chapter  IX 


SUNDAY  was  the  day  David  devoted  to  his  daugh- 
ter.    It  was  a  riotous  day  or  one  of  wide  relig- 
iosity— you  might  take  your  choice.     They  had 
ways  of  spending  it  which  precluded  the  possibility  of 
disappointment.     Rain  did  not  daunt  them  or  a  fall 
of  snow ;  they  were  accustomed  to  finding  either  felici- 
tous; they  were  to  be  met  on  the  highways  or  byways 
dressed  for  the  weather  and  with  the  irresistible  spirit 
of  vagrancy  shining  in  their  faces. 

A  month  had  slipped  into  the  discard  since  that 
first  evening  when  Rolf  Sterling  had  dined  with  them. 
Nature  had  moved  to  that  swift  dismantling  which  is 
like  the  clock's  highest  count  in  its  function  of  the 
hours;  the  latest  is  only  the  earliest.  And  like  the 
clock  Nature  was  undismayed,  informed  of  secret  pur- 
poses; weary,  but  never  tired. 

'1  hear  my  bones  within  me  say, 
'Another  night,  another  day.  .  .  ."* 

Winter  came  early  that  year,  and  the  first  snowfall 
lay  on  the  ground  under  its  intrenchment  of  ice  in 
thin,  tight-lipped  severity,  with  the  sky  overhead  iris- 
purple,  the  smoke  from  blanketed  farmhouses  yielding 
it  a  paler,  bluer  faith.  Oxen  were  wonderful  that 
day  when  the  Harlows  met  them,  in  a  country  lane, 

83 


84  The  Heart's  Justice 

sepia  red  on  that  snow  twilight  of  morning.  Country 
folk  rode  to  church  in  high  buggies,  behind  their 
shaggy  horses,  and  peered  out  at  the  man  and  girl, 
brave  to  walk  over  the  frozen,  slippery  ground. 

Old  David  wore  a  black  coat,  frayed  at  the  sleeves, 
and  a  gray  muffler;  he  had  a  seal  cap  with  ear-lappets, 
but  his  cheeks  did  not  turn  red  as  in  his  lustier  days. 
They  looked  more  delicate  despite  his  zest  in  the  out- 
ing. Muffet's  coat  was  of  old-fashioned  sealskin,  with 
little  golden  channels  showing  beneath  the  black.  She 
had  a  fur  cap  of  chinchilla  that  came  low  about  her 
head  and  showed  only  a  fringe  of  gypsy-dark  hair.  Her 
cheeks  glowed  with  vitality,  her  eyelashes  looked  par- 
ticularly long  and  thick  out-of-doors,  she  smiled  con- 
tinually at  everything  and  called  her  father's  attention 
to  the  most  ordinary  objects.  And  the  crimson  scarf 
of  wool,  knotted  about  her  throat  and  streaming  in  long 
ends  nearly  to  her  feet,  completed  the  touch  of  gypsy 
wildness  in  her  appearance. 

They  were  talking  now  of  the  mice  they  had  caught 
in  their  trap  the  night  before. 

"A  whole  family  of  them,"  Muffet  said.  "Poor 
things,  no  doubt  they're  thankful  to  be  together  in 
prison.  But  imagine  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mouse  and  the  five 
children  starting  out  for  an  innocent  evening's  enter- 
tainment, and  intrigued  by  the  smell  of  cheese  into 
thinking  it  was  quite  a  good  cafe.  The  children  cau- 
tioned about  their  manners,  too,  I  have  no  doubt, 
before  stepping  on  that  fatal  spring." 

"And  as  it  was  descending  into  the  grill,"  completed 
David  quite  seriously. 

"But  just  at  first,"  surmised  Muffet,  "they  must 
have  been  deceived  in  their  surroundings.  They  served 
themselves  as  in  one  of  those  new  cafeterias,  and  there 


The  Heart's  Justice  85 

was  cheese  all  round,  cheese  crumbs  on  all  the  little 
gray  jackets  of  the  children.  And  then,  when  it  was 
time  to  go  home — oh,  it's  quite  too  grisly  to  speak 
of " 

"Infernal  conspiracy,"  murmured  David,  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  twitching. 

"How — how  naked  their  poor  tails  looked,"  she 
repined  feelingly,  "especially  when  you  set  the  cage 
outside  the  door  this  morning  to  let  them  freeze."  Was 
there  a  hint  of  reproach  in  that  ? 

David  took  his  hands  from  his  pockets  to  vindicate 
himself. 

"What  other  course  could  I  pursue?  I  couldn't  let 
them  loose  for  Nicodemus  to — no,  that  would  have  been 
barbarous " 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Muffet,  shuddering  childishly,  "we 
won't  catch  any  more !  This  war  on  them  makes  me 
thoroughly  sick " 

"But  what  of  our  pantry  shelves,  and  our  clothing, 
and  our  self-respect " 

"We've  sacrificed  them  before " 

They  suddenly  faced  one  another  and  laughed.  The 
road  narrowed  and  wound  to  explore  a  forest  of  trim 
cedars  like  toy-trees  in  a  play-village.  Between  the 
symmetry  of  their  cypress-like  growth  the  brush  was 
brittle  and  darkly  gold  through  the  snow,  the  wild 
raspberry  vines,  arched  up  and  back,  forming  intricate 
wickets  of  red  wire.  Stone  walls  tumbled  everywhere 
and  were  iris-gray  like  the  sky,  and  all  these  somber 
tones  melted  one  into  the  other  as  in  a  huge  water-color 
painting. 

Once  a  rabbit  escaped  the  brush  before  them  and 
went  hopping  down  the  road,  lippity-lip,  lippity-lip, 
unconscious  of  the  comedy  of  its  tail;  once  a  flock  of 


86  The  Heart's  Justice 

wild  geese  went  over  with  anxious  cries,  and  David 
looked  at  his  daughter  a  thought  pensively.  But  gayety 
was  restored  when  they  found  their  bean-pole  hut  in  a 
deserted  field  at  the  end  of  the  three-mile  walk.  Here 
they  were  accustomed  to  keep  a  rude  kettle,  a  coffee 
can,  and  a  little  harvest  of  dry  wood  through  the  win- 
ter. Soon  David  had  a  fire  and  Muffet  was  unpacking 
the  small  knapsack  he  had  brought  on  his  back.  They 
made  coffee  and  took  turns  warming  themselves  in  the 
hut  which  barely  admitted  of  one  person.  The  fire 
flared  up  in  thrilling,  gratifying  flames  and  in  all  that 
blue  winter  desolation  burned  as  brightly  as  hope.  They 
had  their  coffee  and  sandwiches  and  made  very  merry, 
aiming  their  remarks  at  the  dilapidated  scarecrow  who 
occupied  the  field  long  after  the  corn  was  harvested. 
Because  he  wore  a  top-hat  and  a  cutaway  coat,  they 
called  him  Beau  Brummel  and  always  greeted  him 
respectfully  on  arrival  or  departure.  They  regretted 
that  he  had  fallen  upon  hard  times. 

And  now  it 'was  afternoon,  and  time  to  trudge  back 
the  long  three  miles  home.  The  sky  was  heavy  with 
snow,  too,  and  David  did  not  walk  quite  so  fast  as  was 
his  wont.  But  still,  of  course,  fast  enough.  Take 
Elijah  Moore, — quite  an  express  train  in  the  pace  he 
set,  but  Elijah  was  debarred  from  joining  them  in  the 
walks  because  of  a  tendency  to  go  lame. 

Still  David  would  never  admit  to  Muffet  that  he 
felt  fatigued.  And  Muffet  was  a  veritable  child  of 
out-of-doors!  Noticed  everything,  loved  everything. 
Ate  heartily  of  the  luncheon,  stood  over  the  fire  with 
her  hands  in  her  pockets  like  an  engaging  boy,  danced 
to  keep  her  feet  warm,  was  radiant  at  the  lark. 

They  were  perhaps  half  way  home,  moving  rather 
less  zestfully  in  the  darkening  day,  when  a  strange 


The  Heart's  Justice  87 

thing  happened.  Nosing  down  the  country  road  came 
a  motor  car;  remarkably  bad  going  it  must  be  having, 
too,  with  the  ruts  frozen  and  traitorous  under  the  thin 
icing.  Muffet  and  her  father  stepped  out  of  the  road 
and  seized  the  occasion  to  rest  on  a  convenient  fence 
rail.  There  they  were,  in  their  quaintness,  their 
cuddling  caps  of  seal  and  chinchilla,  their  wool  scarfs, 
there  they  were  incredibly  when  Sterling's  yellow  car 
came  curving  and  cavorting  through  the  ruts.  .  .  . 

He  was  all  surprise,  though  his  excuse  for  being 
where  he  was  did  not  germinate  so  rapidly  nor  was 
spoken  so  glibly  as  he  would  have  liked.  Well,  of 
all  the — !  Of  the  two  pedestrians  David  is  the  more 
agreeably  surprised:  he  has  already  felt  a  twinge  in 
one  leg,  though  he  has  not  told  Muffet.  And  of  course 
Mr.  Sterling  is  insisting  that  they  ride.  "But  can 
we  manage  it — so  many  of  us  ?" 

"Oh,  easily,  I  think." 

"Muffet,  my  dear,  you're  the  smallest,  perhaps  we'd 
best  put  you  in  the  middle." 

Sterling  is  already  out  and  assisting  her.  Muffet, 
grave,  remotely  lovely  as  some  one  out  of  a  painting. 
She  speaks  a  few  perfunctory  words.  Is  he  crowded? 
David  is  in  gratefully — the  car  is  very  low;  first  you 
sit,  then  drag  your  feet  after  you.  He  says  dryly,  "I 
believe  I  am  assembled." 

And  now  Rolf  is  behind  the  wheel,  delicately  on 
guard  lest  his  great  bulk  completely  crush  the  girl. 
His  overcoat  is  English  and  colossal,  it  has  a  peculiar 
man-scent  of  homespun  and  good  cigars.  Muffet  is 
just  under  his  shoulder,  so  crushed  against  him  as  to 
seem  almost  a  part  of  him.  She  feels  the  muscle  in  his 
shoulder  when  he  carefully  slides  the  gear  into  low, 
then  second,  then  high,  the  unconscious  settling  back. 


88  The  Heart's  Justice 

She  wishes  her  father  had  refused  to  ride.  The  con- 
versation is  all  between  Rolf  and  her  father. 

It  is  with  her,  of  course,  that  Rolf  would  speak,  but 
she  is  not  like  other  girls.  She  gives  a  man  no  opening. 

"We  haven't  had  that  dinner,"  says  Rolf  jovially, 
warring  against  her  dignity,  "and,  let  me  see,  it's  been 
a  month.  Oh,  Miss  Harlow,  there's — er,  there's  a  play 
coming  to  the  Criterion  next  week.  I've  wondered 
if  you  would  care  to  see  it  with  me  ?" 

He  has  managed  that  much  without  turning;  diffi- 
cult to  converse  with  one  who  is  playing  the  cushion, 
as  it  were,  to  the  small  of  one's  back.  Rolf's  neck 
between  his  hat  and  coat  is  crimson. 

"Oh,"  from  Muffet  behind  him,  "if  you  would  like 
to  have  us!" 

David  perceives  her  mistake.  "You  mustn't  mind 
her,  Mr.  Sterling.  It's  just  that  we've  been  together 
so  much,  you  know.  Muffet's  a  home-body,  and  she 
feels  herself  lost  without  her  old  watchdog,  eh,  Ducky  ?" 

Sterling  laughs  unsuccessfully. 

"Naturally  I  meant  your  father,  too,"  he  lies  in 
great  discomfort,  and  navigates  more  ruts. 

And  the  truth  is  at  last  alive  in  David.  Why,  bless 
his  soul,  but  Sterling  is  interested  in  the  girl  for  her- 
self. Preposterous  notion.  He  does  not  see  that  it 
is  more  preposterous  on  his  part  not  to  have  reckoned 
on  such  a  possibility,  never  to  have  plotted  a  future  for 
her.  In  sweet,  smug  selfishness  he  now  deplores  the 
certainty  that  Rolf  will  be  disappointed.  Muffet  wants 
no  man  but  her  father.  Has  she  not  said  so  a  million 
times  ?  Certainly  the  love  between  them  has  no  prece- 
dent in  all  the  annals  of  history.  He  begins  to  pity 
Rolf,  and  such  pity  makes  him  happy.  Even  if  Muffet 
were  not  so  disinclined,  Sterling  would  hardly  be  the 


The  Heart's  Justice  89 

man  to  satisfy  her,  a  much  slower  nature,  kind,  but 
heavy  in  comparison.  He  hastens  to  pour  oil  on  the 
troubled  waters,  but  Rolf  has  already  changed  the 
topic. 

"Is  it  possible  you've  been  walking  all  day  ?"  he  asks, 
"and  in  the  snow?" 

Muffet  relents. 

"Our  Sunday  dissipation.  We've  visited  our  cedar 
forest,  and  dined  with  a  scarecrow.  See,  our  knap- 
sack is  empty." 

"Oh,"  from  Sterling,  wistfully,  "and  I've  been  to 
church  and  repented  of  my  sins." 

He  laughs  mirthlessly. 

"We  too  have  heard  a  sermon,"  says  Muffet,  mis- 
chievously, "but  not  your  kind  of  sermon." 

"And  what  was  the  text  of  the  sermon  you  found 
out  there?" 

"The  parable  of  the  silk  hat  and  cutaway  coat," 
suggested  her  father  archly.  "All  material  things  come 
to  the  same  end  and  are  only  fit  to  scare  away  the  crows." 

"Walking  is  all  right,"  remarked  Sterling  toploftily, 
"but  I  haven't  patience  for  it  any  longer.  Then,  too, 
I  don't  like  to  be  passed  on  the  road." 

David  nodded. 

"I  see  your  point  of  view.  The  development  of 
the  gasoline  motor's  a  very  interesting  thing." 

"Which  reminds  me,"  said  Sterling,  "I've  decided 
to  take  up  your  work  on  the  valves  at  the  next  directors' 
meeting.  Can't  say  what  will  come  of  it,  but  at  any 
rate  we'll  see  how  it  is  received.  I'm  hoping  they'll 
at  least  ask  for  a  demonstration!" 

Although  he  had  confidently  looked  for  something 
of  the  sort,  David's  heart  was  pumping  heavily. 


90  The  Heart's  Justice 

"I'm  deeply  grateful,  Mr.  Sterling.  I'd  hardly 
hoped — I'm  sure  it's  too  kind  of  you  to  give  it  your 
immediate  support " 

"Oh,"  said  Kolf,  airily,  "there's  a  saying  that  one 
must  he  a  little  too  kind  in  order  to  he  kind  enough. 
Here  we  are  so  soon.  I  wish  it  might  have  heen 
longer." 

They  drew  up  at  the  old  house,  and  David  climbed 
down  stiffly.  Rolf  was  out  and  ready  to  give  Muffet 
his  hand,  and  this  time  she  gave  him  the  preference 
to  her  father.  It  was  prettily  done. 

"Won't  you  stay  and  forage  with  us  for  supper?" 
She  lifted  her  eyes  through  the  fringy  lashes  and  he 
went  weak  all  over,  the  great,  smitten  fellow. 

"Thanks,  no,  I  really  can't  this  time.  But  perhaps 
again,  if  you'll  ask  me." 

"Come  often,"  said  David,  with  real  feeling.  "Come 
very  often." 

Rolf  was  looking  at  Muffet,  at  the  quaint  short 
jacket.  He  wanted  to  cover  her  in  silver  squirrel  to 
her  heels,  a  coat  that  would  cost  a  thousand  dollars. 
She  would  have  said  more  that  was  pleasant,  but  she 
did  not  choose  he  should  think  her  bidding  for  favors 
or  too  sensible  of  his  condescension  toward  her  father. 
So  they  went  up  the  path  to  the  house  and  Rolf  swung 
back  in  his  car,  whistling. 


n 

After  their  supper  Muffet  took  a  lantern  and  went 
out  of  doors  to  look  at  the  mice,  still  animate  in  mis- 
ery despite  the  cold  day. 

"Oh  Father,"  she  reported,  "they  haven't  died.    Isn't 


The  Heart's  Justice  91 

it  stubborn  of  them,  and  isn't  it — heroic?  But  the 
thermometer  will  certainly  drop  before  morning.  Their 
tails  were  chillier  than  ever.  We — we  won't  catch  any- 
more." 

"No,  we'll  surrender  and  be  gnawed."  A  twitching 
of  his  whimsical  mouth,  whereupon  Muffet  threw  her- 
self into  his  lap  and  beat  him  with  affectionate  fists. 

"You're  laughing,  and  pretending  not  to  understand. 
It's  out  of  principle  I'd  let  them  live.  It  seems  un- 
sportsmanlike when  they've — they've!  struggled  so 
long " 

The  outcome  was  that  before  they  retired  they  stole 
forth  sheepishly,  evading  Vannie,  and  brought  the  cage 
into  the  woodshed  where  it  was  warm. 

"And  having  kept  them  from  freezing,"  remarked 
David  to  himself  next  morning,  "there  seems  no  point 
in  letting  them  starve." 

Making  a  droll  face  of  it,  he  went  to  the  pantry  and 
presently  returned  with  a  handful  of  cheese  crumbs. 
The  stricken  rodents  were  now  scurrying  round  and 
round,  their  benumbed  state  having  given  place  to 
hope.  There  he  stood,  feeding  the  small  enemy,  when 
Vannie  lumbered  down  from  her  quarters  and  found 
him. 

"Jes'  yo'  see  here,  Mr.  David,"  she  warned,  coming 
into  the  woodshed  and  showing  an  outraged  face  in 
the  early  morning.  "Ah  isn't  gwan  to  house  no  var- 
mints, Ah  isn't.  I'se  gwan  drown  dem  low-down  crit- 
ters immejit." 

"Oh,"  said  David,  fairly  caught,  and  relieved  after 
all  that  he  had  found  one  to  administer  the  coup  de 
grace,  and  he  added  with  more  respect,  "as  you  will, 
Vanilla  Extract  Thompson." 


92  The  Heart's  Justice 

"Mister  David,"  objected  Vannie,  rolling  her  eyes 
with  a  look  of  unutterable  reproach,  "Ah  done  been 
tellin  yo'  aL  mah  life  dat  'E'  in  mah  name  stan'  fo' 


Chapter  X 


WHAT  a  spendid  type  of  man!"  effused  many 
mothers  of  marriageable  girls  in  Wedgewater, 
and  each  had  her  mind's  eye  on  that  up-and- 
coming  young  man,  Rolf  Sterling. 

He  was  to  be  seen  at  church  each  Sunday  in  com- 
mendable devotion;  he  always  said  and  did  the  con- 
sistent thing,  the  incontrovertible.  .  .  .  Such  a 
comfort!  And  such  a  pleasure  to  look  at  him,  head 
and  shoulders  above  other  men,  his  face  shining  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  an  uncomplex  soul.  Thus  had  he 
conquered  those  cold  inhibitions  which  were  his  heritage 
from  his  northern  sire.  He  would  have  preferred,  in 
truth,  to  play  the  recluse.  But  he  saw  that  it  was 
not  done,  that  there  were  all  sorts  of  sides  to  a  rounded 
success,  and  success  was  his  god.  It  called  upon  him 
to  make  strange  and  diverse  offerings,  and  he  pandered 
to  it  anxiously  in  such  ways.  Later  he  listened  for 
applause,  and  was  never  disappointed. 

During  the  six  months  which  preceded  his  meeting 
with  the  Harlows  the  mechanism  of  his  life  had  seemed 
perfect.  Physical  well-being  and  mental  efficiency 
characterized  his  days. 

At  night  he  probably  had  a  swim  in  the  pool  at  the 
gymnasium  and  emerged  more  fit  than  before ;  he  dressed 
and  dined  with  one  of  the  families  whose  daughters 

93 


94  The  Heart's  Justice 

had  not  all  married,  and  to  whom  his  visit  brought  a 
stimulating  flutter.  They  fed  him  exquisitely  while 
the  young  candidate  talked  in  girlish  fashion,  leaning 
her  elhows  on  the  table.  Beneath  the  table  she  had 
always  her  best  foot  forward.  But  strange  how  much 
alike  all  these  nice  girls  were,  and  the  mothers  who 
wanted  him  to  "feel  at  home"  and  the  fathers  who 
made  him  so  comfortable  in  their  libraries,  through 
cigar  smoke  deferring  to  him  in  all  financial  opinions. 

Now  all  was  changed.  Christmas  had  passed  and 
the  fag  end  of  winter  was  at  hand,  and  Rolf  was 
curiously  irritable.  When  he  was  not  occupied  with 
business  he  kept  up  a  feverish  fermentation  in  himself 
of  conjecture,  complaint  and  really  childlike  amaze- 
ment. Why  had  his  success  made  so  slight  an  impres- 
sion on  that  sequestered  girl  out  Wedgewater  Road? 
Was  she  fundamentally  different  from  other  girls  ?  The 
latter  had  ways  of  showing  that  his  attentions  were  far 
from  distasteful.  The  hovering  consciousness  of  sex 
made  them  more  palpably  feminine,  proclaimed  him  the 
man  by  inference. 

But  Muffet  Harlow — pshaw,  a  rose  set  with  sharpest 
spine.  And  nothing  of  a  coquette.  Or  was  she  really 
too  coquettish  for  coquetry?  Here  his  cleverness  con- 
founded him.  In  a  sex-ridden  age  she  shone  immaculate 
as  a  lily,  though  she  had  none  of  the  lily's  holy,  conven- 
tual perfume.  On  the  whole,  the  simile  of  the  rose 
suited  her  better,  the  spiney  rose.  She  refuted  his 
most  precious  doctrines  with  a  naughty  whimsicality 
that  made  him  feel  the  fool.  Yet  her  hard,  bright 
honesty  was  more  tantalizing  than  the  soft  wiles  of 
another  woman. 

Rolf  fumed,  lost  weight  and  something  of  his  old 
assurance.  He  revenged  himself  mentally  by  putting 


The  Heart's  Justice  95 

her  where  she  belonged,  pitiful,  small  aristocrat,  with 
her  mind  all  fists !  And  because  of  an  envy  of  David 
he  entertained  the  thought  that  even  her  father's  vaunted 
invention  might  come  to  nothing.  In  that  case  what 
would  support  her  pride?  He  was  pledged  to  take 
up  the  matter  with  the  company,  but  having  given  it 
his  advocacy  his  power  would  be  at  end.  Of  course,  in 
the  event  of  failure  here,  there  were  other  engine- 
builders  to  whom  David  might  offer  his  findings,  but 
the  chances  were  overwhelmingly  against  him.  The 
man's  age,  his  whole  personality  stood  in  his  way.  .  . 
Thus  reasoned  Rolf. 

In  the  meantime  there  were  the  girls  to  whom  he 
might  have  returned  when  Muffet  Harlow  flouted  him, 
but  he  was  not  the  man  to  go  off  at  any  tangent  of 
consolation.  Instead  he  went  about  with  the  ache  of 
irritation  inside  him  and  permitted  "the  pitiful,  small 
aristocrat"  to  rub  more  salt  into  his  wounds. 


"That  leak  seems  to  be  spreading,"  he  observed  irrel- 
evantly one  day,  eyes  roaming  heavenward  in  her 
living  room  where  she  was  giving  him  tea. 

He  had  called  early  in  order  to  be  alone  with  her 
before  her  father  returned. 

"Yes,"  she  said  gayly,  her  hands  busy  among  the 
tea  things,  "the  ceiling  leaks  and  the  furnace  is  old 
and  if  we  don't  get  a  coat  of  paint  this  spring  we 
shall  drop  to  pieces."  And,  ironically,  "Amusing, 
isn't  it?" 

"How  do  you  mean — 'amusing  ?' ' 

"I  mean  it's  a  spectacle  to  watch  the  disintegration 


96  The  Heart's  Justice 

of  other  houses  when  your  own  roof  is  holding  together ! 
Pity  becomes  a  luxury.  .  .  .  Two  lumps  or  one  ?" 

Outrageous  Muffet!  Sterling  crimsoned  furiously. 
He  swallowed  hard. 

"You  say  those  things — "  he  began  and  stopped. 
"It's  as  though  you  disliked  me  for  having  gotten  on — 
as  though  you  think  me  self-centered.  See  here,  Miss 
Mu — Muffet,  do  you  dislike  me?" 

He  reached  forward  with  an  arresting  gesture  and 
stopped  one  of  those  white,  roving  hands  with  the 
fragile  finger-tips. 

"Do  you — do  you  dislike  me?"  he  precipitated  the 
question  in  desperate  hazard.  "I  know  it's  in  you  to 
be  different  because  of  the  way  you  are  with  your 
father " 

"Father,"  she  said  quietly,  not  withdrawing  her 
hand  or  appearing  to  notice  that  he  held  it,  "it's  my  life 
to  be  as  I  am  with  Father!" 

"But  you  haven't  answered  my  question?" 

"Well  then  no,  I  don't  dislike  you.  What  would  you 
say  if  I  told  you  I  pity  you  a  little  for  the  way  you've 
'gotten  on' — a  tear  for  success !"  She  coined  the  phrase 
wickedly. 

"What's  wrong  with  the  way  I've  gotten  on?" 

"Nothing,"  mildly.  "That's  just  the  trouble. 
There's  never,  apparently,  been  anything  to  stop  you. 
It  might  have  been  better  if  there  had,  if  you'd  been 
bruised  and  beaten  and  thrown  back  on  yourself.  In- 
stead you've  gone  on  steadily  bettering  yourself  and 
providing  for  your  future  in  a  material  way.  Have  you 
really  been  able  to  do  all  this  without  some — some 
spiritual  sacrifice?" 

"Sacrifice  ?"     He  hung  forward  stupidly. 

"Can  any  man  of  absolute  independent  thought  and 


The  Heart's  Justice  97 

aetion  attain  success — that's  what  I  want  to  know. 
Are  there  not  always  compromises,  little  ones  at  first, 
then  trigger  and  bigger?" 

"Come  now,"  he  laughed  loudly,  primed  for  argu- 
ment, "is  that  your  indictment  against  me?  Why  it 
sounds  like  socialism,"  and  his  pronouncement  of  the 
word  thrust  it  into  disrepute.  "Now  listen."  He  put 
his  tea-cup  back  on  the  tray,  his  whole  being  eloquent 
of  refutation.  "You're  a  woman  and  you've  gotten 
all  your  ideas  second-hand.  From  books,  I  daresay. 
I'm  no  reader  myself."  Almost  with  pride  he  made 
the  statement.  "I  keep  in  touch  with  scientific  thought 
but  for  the  rest  I'm  too  busy  to  bother.  But  I  know 
about  capital  and  labor  from  first-hand  experience,  and 
that's  more  than  most  writers  do.  They  preach  a  lot 
of  sentimental  rot  that  won't  go  down  with  men 
who've  gotten  out  and  sweated — "  He  was  keen  for 
the  flavor  of  the  word  and  looked  to  it  again  for  his 
effect,  "gotten  out  and  sweated  for  a. living!"  Muffet 
smiled,  smiled  at  how  square  his  lower  lip  had  become 
and  how  he.  contrived  to  talk'with  it  aslant,  rather  than 
at  what  he  was  saying.  "They're  consumers,  not  pro- 
ducers, these  'wordy'  chaps;  they  sit  in  their  wretched 
little  attics  or  studios  or  libraries " 

"Alone  with  the  stars,"  she  suggested  mischievously. 

"Alone  with  egotism,  and  other  little  soul  maladies 
of  envy  and  discontent " 

Though  she  had  never  heard  him  talk  this  way  before 
she  recognized  a  characteristic  prejudice.  Nothing 
new  in  what  he  said,  not  even  an  individual  opinion! 

"If  I'm  anywhere  I'm  'up  from  nowhere/  "  declared 
Sterling,  square-lipped  in  deadly  seriousness.  "There's 
no  department  of  that  factory  over  there  in  which  I 
haven't " 


98  The  Heart's  Justice 

"Sweated!"  she  put  in  triumphantly.  "Let's  have 
it  'sweated  !'  " 

"Sweated  then !  And  I  don't  recall  ever  having  had 
a  chip  on  my  shoulder  against  the  system.  I  had  honest 
treatment  all  the  way  up  because  I  gave  honest  satis- 
faction. My  policy  was  the  policy  of  the  organization. 
As  for  sacrifices " 

So  he  talked  and  shaped  himself  in  Muffet's  mind 
as  the  practical  person  he  was,  the  opposite  of  a 
dreamer.  She  believed  that  his  ambitions  took  little 
account  of  the  individual,  that  what  he  did  in  the  way 
of  community  benefits,  the  model  tenement  houses  he 
had  been  instrumental  in  building,  the  playgrounds  to 
be  thrown  open  in  the  spring,  the  company's  club  room 
and  restaurant,  was  but  his  modus  operandi  for  build- 
ing better  engines.  What  was  thereby  induced  to  flower 
in  a  man's  own  soul  was  a  means  to  an  end,  not  an 
object.  No,  as  her  father  had  foreseen,  he  was  not 
the  man  to  take  captive  her  imagination.  A  strain  of 
wistfulness  in  his  make-up  might  have  made  all  the 
difference. 

Muffet  had  let  him  unwind  at  will,  thoughtfully  nib- 
bling her  toast  the  while,  but  when  she  saw  him  with 
ammunition  spent  she  found  her  chance  and  said, 

"I  was  going  to  ask  which  you  would  rather 
be,  a  successful  failure,  one  who  fails  while  doing 
the  work  he  loves  best  or  the  man  who  succeeds  in 
an  alien  sort  of  occupation?"  and  he  knew  that  she 
was  holding  a  brief  for  her  father. 

TEe  question  put  him  back  into  thoughtfulness. 

"Theoretically,"  he  answered,  "I'd  rather  fail  in 
my  own  line  but  practically — well  there's  something 
definite,  satisfactory  in  coming  off  top-hole  with  any 
job  that's  of  benefit  to  the  world  even  if  it  isn't  the 


The  Heart's  Justice  99 

one  you're  most  keen  about.  No,  I'll  be  honest.  I'd 
rather  succeed  someway,  anyway,  than  the  other  thing." 

"Oh,"  she  said  in  tremendous  noncommittal  brevity, 
and  with  that  word  she  gave  up  hope  of  him. 

That  father,  thought  Rolf,  had  become  for  her  a 
fixture  in  his  niche  of  greatness  and  he  wondered  if  it 
would  be  necessary  to  dislodge  him  before  gaining 
dominion  over  her  mind.  .  .  .  When  the)  door 
opened  their  fireside  seance  was  suddenly  thrown  into 
the  discard.  Rolf  stood  stiffly  as  Muffet  darted  into 
the  hall,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  white  chimney  shelf 
with  its  colony  of  pewter  tea-pots.  Once  he  glanced  up 
at  the  ceiling  and  mechanically  dealt  with  the  condition 
of  that  spreading  leak. 

"Why,  it's  Mr.  Sterling,"  came  David's  voice  and 
he  entered  with  Muffet  still  clinging  to  his  shoulder. 
All  her  combativeness  had  left  her  and  she  looked  soft 
and  girlish  in  her  happiness,  brown  eyes  humid  with 
love  and  the  jest  that  they  seemed  always  to  have  be- 
tween them. 

"He's  cold  as  about  fifty  icebergs,"  she  said  airily  of 
David  but  whether  to  Rolf  or  to  herself  was  not  clear, 
"and  his  cheeks  are  rough  as  graters !"  Her  sweetness 
seemed  to  satiate  the  air.  Rolf  felt  her,  "a  wild  odor 
in  the  soul,"  and  smiled  feebly  above  a  new,  and  stab- 
bing pain.  Quite  dreadfully  he  wanted  her.  .  .  . 


Chapter  XI 


ONCE  a  year  Albion  Harlow,  the  brother  of 
Joseph,  was  wont  to  appear  unexpectedly  and 
to  call  at  the  house  on  Wedgewater  Road.  He 
never  announced  his  intention  beforehand,  preferring 
that  the  visit  should  seem  of  slight  note  in  his  life  of 
affairs.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  as  deliberate  as 
anything  else  he  did.  Like  all  his  other  moves  in  life 
the  yearly  visit  to  his  improvident  brother  was  for  a 
purpose,  even  if  only  a  moral  one.  It  did  him  good 
to  look  upon  David  rotting  away  in  his  rut  and  to 
compare  what  the  two  of  them  had  made  of  their 
chances.  Albion  was  a  heavy-breathing  man  of  cum- 
bersome importance;  he  had  Ebenezer  Harlow's  high 
coloring,  but  he  had  not  the  fine,  beneficent  face  of  his 
father.  Older  than  David,  his  hair  was  yet  no  more 
than  grizzled  gray,  his  back  broad  and  powerful,  his 
voice  a  boom,  while  David's  head  had  caught  the 
whitest  frost,  his  shoulders  stooped  and  when  he  spoke 
his  voice  was  so  soft  that  sometimes  you  had  to  listen 
closely  in  order  to  catch  what  he  was  saying.  Mr. 
Albion  Harlow  was  the  owner  of  a  thread  mill  and  a 
fine  country  estate  in  the  adjacent  village,  but  his  family 
was  not  a  provincial  one — far  from  it.  His  wife  was 
ambitious  to  a  degree.  The  children  were  smartly  edu- 
cated and  in  the  way  of  becoming  social  arbiters. 

100 


The  Heart's  Justice  101 

Muffet  disliked  all  the  Albion  Harlows,  but  particu- 
larly she  disliked  her  uncle.  It  always  set  her  in  a  cold 
fury  when  he  came  lumbering  up  the  path  with  large 
philanthropic  composure,  his  bright  weather  eye  intel- 
ligent of  the  ravages  of  the  house.  He  rang  and  was 
admitted,  filling  the  hallway  with  his  condescension  and 
his  overcoat. 

On  this  particular  occasion  it  was  Muffet  who  ad- 
mitted him  and  was  taken  unaware.  Her  Uncle 
Albion  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  and  in  loud-breathing, 
jocular  fashion  told  her  she  was  prettier  than  ever. 

"You  didn't  expect  to  see  me,  m'dear !  No  ?  Well, 
I  had  business  down  here  so  I  thought  I'd  drop  in.  ... 
How's  your  father?" 

"He's  home  with  lumbago.  .  .  .  He's  in  the  sitting 
room  by  the  fire.  Come  in,  won't  you?  Father,  it's 
Uncle  Albion.  .  .  ." 

Now  nothing  so  depressed  David  as  a  call  from  his 
successful  brother,  and  as  Muffet  had  spent  her  entire 
morning  tending  and  heartening  him  she  sighed  with 
justification.  In  years  gone  by  David  had  wanted 
Albion  to  finance  his  various  inventions  and  devices,  for 
there  had  been  several  of  them,  but  Albion's  interest 
was  not  to  be  engaged.  He  knew  nothing  of  machinery 
and  he  was  no  gambler.  Better  to  give  than  to  lend, 
he  said.  He  had  made  that  the  maxim  of  his  life.  And, 
impressed  with  the  iron  utterance,  he  would  repeat  it 
inexorably  as  a  dictum  once  invented  by  him,  but  now 
honorable  with  usage  as  the  ten  commandments.  In 
any  other  way  he  would  be  glad  to  assist  his  brother. 
He  would  like  to  send  Muffet  away  to  school  with  his 
daughters  and  to  pay  for  her  education,  or  to  make  them 
a  little  yearly  allowance  of  a  neat  sum.  But  nothing 
of  the  sort  would  David  accept. 


IO2  The  Heart's  Justice 

To-day  a  feeble  smile  played  over  David's  face  as 
Albion  entered.  He  wanted  to  appear  pleased  at  the 
visit  and  not  so  hors  de  combat  that  he  could  not  rise 
and  boom  a  bit  himself.  But  his  back  had  been 
troubling  him  severely;  for  the  last  hour  Muffet  had 
been  applying  the  wet  cloths  that  the  doctor  recom- 
mended, holding  a  hot  flatiron  as  close  to  her  father's 
back  as  was  possible  without  burning,  in  order  that  the 
steam  might  penetrate  his  flesh.  It  was  tedious  and 
nerve-racking  work,  as  David  bore  illness  badly,  and 
was  exacting  about  treatment. 

And  here  was  the  spruce  Albion  to  add  bitterness  to 
his  pessimism.  They  talked  for  an  hour,  then  Albion, 
snapping  his  watch  open  and  shut,  declared  that  he 
must  leave.  The  invention  had  been  touched  on  and 
David  had  said,  with  a  little  color  flushing  the  pain- 
white  hollows  of  his  cheeks,  that  everything  was  coming 
on  very  well.  The  manager  of  the  factory  had  offered 
to  do  what  he  could  with  the  directors  of  the  company. 
Not  of  course  that  their  willingness  to  buy  was  abso- 
lutely vital.  David  was  giving  the  Ship  and  Engine 
people  the  first  chance.  But  there  were  other  engine 
builders,  as  Rolf  himself  had  admitted.  That  was  the 
way  David  had  always  talked,  just  in  that  high,  vision- 
ary, elegant  manner.  But  the  mention  of  Sterling  as 
a  patron  erased  Albion's  smile  before  it  was  born.  He 
said  he  hoped  the  engine  people  would  come  round,  he 
heartily  hoped  so.  Then  standing,  and  getting  into  his 
overcoat,  he  observed  that  he  was  sorry  to  find  them  in 
"this  fix,"  David  laid  up  and  no  one  in  the  house  to 
cheer  or  help  them  but  "that  nigger  mammy."  He  said 
that  he  guessed  he  had  better  have  Aunt  Lu  come  down 
and  help  them  out.  As  he  dared  the  suggestion  Muffet 
and  her  father  exchanged  the  distress  signals  of  inti- 


The  Heart's  Justice  103 

mates.  Aunt  Lu  was  a  near-octogenarian,  a  notorious 
busybody  and  a  nomad  in  the  bargain.  Because  of  her 
unfortunate  talent  for  creating  trouble  she  had  never 
been  able  to  establish  permanent  contacts  in  any  of  the 
houses  of  her  kinsmen.  Yet  with  a  certain  hard  avidity 
she  made  her  rounds,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  when 
one  door  closed  she  could  always  open  another.  She 
stepped  off  demurely,  leaving  sore  hearts  behind  her,  yet 
always  with  energy  for  the  new  field. 

Among  the  Harlows  there  was  a  current  opinion  to 
the  effect  that  she  should  have  stayed  at  David's.  There 
was  no  older  woman  in  that  household  and  Huffet  com- 
paratively a  child.  But  how  David  felt  about  it  was 
evidenced  in  his  immediate  reply  to  Albion. 

"There's  not  the  slightest  need  to  send  Aunt  Lu!" 
Aunt  Lu,  it  developed,  was  then  living  in  Uncle  Albion's 
own  house  in  Threadville,  so  his  motive  was  one  of 
questionable  altruism. 

"We're  quite  used  to  doing  for  ourselves,"  seconded 
Muffet  with  desperate  hate.  "Father  is  better  now  and 
Vannie " 

She  broke  off,  shivering  beneath  the  intention  in  his 
eye.  At  the  door  he  said, 

"It's  a  pity  you  should  be  wasting  your  life  here,  a 
comely  young  woman  like  you.  Well,  well,  when  it 
gets  a  little  warmer  I'll  have  your  Aunt  Alice  ask  you 
up  for  a  visit.  Late  in  the  spring,  say,  when  the  chil- 
dren are  home  for  vacation. 

She  stood  in  the  draughty  passage,  letting  him  out, 
the  finely  marked  brows  clenched  over  eyes  that  knew 
how  to  hate  as  well  as  to  love.  It  was  not  until  she 
turned  back  into  the  room  where  her  father  was  waiting 
that  she  sought  after  and  found  some  grace  of  humor 


IO4  The  Heart's  Justice 

to  sustain  them  both  under  the  insults  they  had  received. 
She  grimaced  and  peeped  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye 
to  see  if  her  father  was  thereby  restored  to  humor.  But, 
sunken  forlornly  on  his  pillow,  in  the  historic  attitude 
of  Napoleon  during  his  last  days  at  St.  Helena,  he  had 
apparently  not  noticed.  His  lowering  eye  was  fixed 
moodily  on  the  fire,  his  hands  lay  palms  uppermost  in 
his  lap  like  hands  that  confess  themselves  beaten,  and 
seeing  him  so  an  intolerable  rush  of  sadness  filled  her 
heart.  Kneeling  on  the  hearth-rug  she  lifted  her  arms 
and  strained  them  about  him.  The  fire  of  her  intense, 
protective  passion  went  threading  through  him  like  a 
transfusion. 

"You  silly,"  she  half  sobbed,  "you  absurd,  only 
father.  Why,  oh,  why  can't  they  leave  us  alone?" 

Her  kisses  warmed  his  cold  flesh,  her  hot,  young 
spirit  beat  into  his  with  a  rousing  vehemence. 

"It's  only,"  he  breathed  regretfully,  "that  he  can  do 
so  much  more  for  his  children  than  I  can  do  for  you, 
Muffy ;  sends  the  girls  abroad  in  summer  and  in  winter 
to  schools  and  cities  and — and  what-not." 

And  he  continued  abstractedly, 

"Buys  them  pretty  things — bonnets  and  dresses — and 
gewgaws.  .  .  ." 

She  kissed  his  hand  anxiously. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  care  for  pretty  things  so  long  as 
I  have  you  ?"  and,  adroitly,  "But  I  do  hope  he'll  spare 
us  Aunt  Lu  and  her  snooping.  She's  too  old  to  be 
traveling  in  winter — I  ought  to  have  told  him  that. 
She  might  catch  pneumonia  and  die." 

"Oh,  no,"  declared  her  father  decisively,  with  a  wan 
gleam.  "That  kind  never  die,  my  dear.  They  are  all 
shot  at  the  Day  of  Judgment!" 


The  Heart's  Justice  105 

n 

Aunt  Lu  was  dispatched  to  them,  notwithstanding, 
and  they  had  no  choice  but  to  house  her.  As  Muffet 
saw  almost  at  once,  age  had  rendered  her  innocuous, 
had  all  but  drawn  her  fangs  and  now  one  must  pity 
the  old  woman,  whose  eyes  were  cheated  of  their  acumen 
by  a  growing  veil  of  blindness,  and  whose  rheumatic 
hands  could  not  close  upon  mischief. 

David's  eyes  would  rest  upon  her  with  a  pained 
aversion,  trying  to  recall  the  way  she  had  looked  in  his 
boyhood,  wearing  a  frizzled  front  and  a  bustle,  and 
remembering  almost  respectfully  the  active  trouble  she 
had  created  in  her  time. 

He  knew  that  his  chief  claim  to  interest  in  her  eyes 
had  always  been  the  mystery  of  his  wife.  Her  prob- 
ings  had  extended  over  a  period  of  many  years  and 
once  he  had  shrunk  from  them.  But  now,  as  he  told 
himself,  they  were  become  fumbling  and  obvious. 

After  the  little  morning  sessions  which  he  abode  with 
her^Muffet  would  come  home  from  market,  deposit  her 
basket  on  the  kitchen  table  and  zephyr  in,  all  innocent 
and  racy  gossip  of  the  outside  world.  She  had  the  art 
of  magnifying  or  turning  any  incident  to  account,  a  true 
sense  of  high  lights. 

They  did  not  mind  Aunt  Lu  then.  They  held  her 
indulgently  in  trust  between  them.  The  simple  but 
engrossing  business  of  being  together  sufficed  and  was 
a  never  ceasing  source  of  wonder  to  the  aged  spinster 
whose  small  dividends  from  life  had  turned  her  bitter. 
She  crocheted  by  sense  of  feel  and  delivered  herself  of 
the  inference, 

"In  my  day  hands  were  never  idle." 


106  The  Heart's  Justice 

"And  oh,"  flared  Muffet,  "how  dull  hands  must  have 
been!" 

But  mostly  she  was  very  gentle  with  Aunt  Lu,  re- 
garding her  from  some  pitying  and  scientific  viewpoint 
of  the  young.  Aunt  Lu's  mind  was  failing  and  lapsing 
into  the  state  of  semi-indifference  where  the  events  vital 
in  the  lives  of  her  associates  moved  her  little. 

"Bhoda,"  she  would  ask,  using  Muffet's  tabooed 
baptismal  name  with  perverse  deliberation,  "Timothy 
Harlow  is  dead,  is  he  not?" 

"My  name  is  Muffet,  Aunt  Lu.  No,  it  was  Timo- 
thy's wife  who  died.  Timothy  is  still  living." 

"Ah,  I  forget,"  in  a  colorless  voice.  "And  Angelina 
Pierce,  she's  gone  too." 

"Oh,  dear,  no,  Aunt  Lu,  Angelina's  husband." 

Till  the  lugubrious  dialogue  verged  on  comedy.  And 
Muffet  thought,  "Really,  it  does  not  matter  to  her  any 
longer  and  that  is  why  she  confuses  the  living  and  the 
dead." 

During  David's  illness  Elijah  Moore  came  faithfully 
each  evening,  the  fidgety,  solicitous  friend.  And  one 
evening  there  was  Aunt  Lu,  manifesting  the  social  in- 
stinct and  waiting  up  for  him,  a  crinkled,  creaking 
figure  with  blonde  lace  at  her  throat  and  her  toupee  of 
terrible,  gray  hair  a  little  awry. 

"How  do  you  do,  Elijah  Moore?"  she  greeted  him 
with  the  shrill  voice  of  senility.  "I  trust  I  find  you 
well." 

Elijah  took  the  rudderless  hand. 

"Well  to  middlin',  thank  you  kindly,  Mis'  Harlow." 

"And  Sarah,"  quavered  Aunt  Lu  conversationally, 
"is  she  well?" 

An  expression  of  childish  dismay  passed  over  his 
face. 


The  Heart's  Justice  107 

"Why,  why,  Sarah,"  he  floundered,  "you  know  I  lost 
her  twenty  years  ago." 

"Ah,"  said  Aunt  Lu  imperturbably,  "I  hadn't 
heard." 


in 


To  walk  in  a  wind  with  Muffet  Harlow !  Rolf  had 
not  known  how  that  would  be.  But  he  had  met  her 
late  one  afternoon  in  February  entering  a  book-shop,  a 
combination  coffee  shop  and  circulating  library,  and 
had  followed  irresistibly.  Muffet  wore  her  usual  win- 
ter costume,  the  coat  of  seal,  the  chinchilla  cap  and  the 
long,  flame-bright  scarf.  Between  the  rim  of  her  cap 
and  the  red  of  her  scarf  escaped  a  fringe  of  short, 
stocky  curls,  of  young,  innocent-looking  hair,  like  a 
baby's.  Her  face  was  all  a  delicious  pink  from  walk- 
ing, her  eyes  dark  and  brilliant,  and  Rolf  thought  that 
she  was  glad  to  see  him.  He  thought  too  of  the  prize 
he  had  discovered,  tucked  away  obscurely  out  Wedge- 
water  Road,  how  his  friends  would  exclaim,  "Sly  dog !" 
when  he  produced  her,  when  he  presented  her  as  his 
wife,  wearing  the  title  of  Mrs.  Rolf  Sterling  as  tangibly 
as  she  would  wear  the  expensive  clothes  he  would  buy 
for  her.  Yes,  he  would  be  envied  without  a  doubt. 
And  from  such  pleasant  cogitations  he  returned  with  a 
start  to  Muffet,  buying  coffee  for  her  father.  The 
coffee  had  to  be  ground  and  the  whole  warm,  webby 
place  was  heavy  with  the  dark  golden  smell  of  it.  Rolf 
breathed  it  lingeringly  into  his  lungs  and  it  was  as 
though  he  inhaled  the  tang  of  his  own  rich  pleasure. 

"This  is  where  I  come  for  my  reading,"  the  girl  said 
in  an  undertone  which  barely  escaped  the  note  of  con- 
fidence, and  she  led  him  deeper  into  the  shadowy  re- 


lo8  The  Heart's  Justice 

cess  of  the  store  where  shelves  upon  shelves  of  brown- 
wrappered  books  kept  their  niches  like  monks  in 
cubicles.  "They  are  very  dusty,"  she  laughed.  .  .  . 

And  Rolf,  frantic  to  please  her, 

"Find  me  something  to  read,  undertake  my  educa- 
tion, do!" 

"But  how  can  I  know  where  your  tastes  lie  ?  ...  I'm 
always  on  the  higher  shelves  myself.  That  is  where 
the  standard  English  writers  are.  My  Anglo-Saxon 
blood  cries  out  for  its  own." 

A  short  ladder  was  for  the  convenience  of  foraging 
bookworms,  and,  as  though  it  were  the  most  ordinary 
proceeding  in  the  world,  she  suddenly  said, 

"Steady  me,  won't  you?"  and  took  several  steps  up 
into  the  shadows  above  the  nimbus  of  the  swinging 
kerosene  lamp. 

Rolf,  surprised  and  protesting,  could  only  do  as  he 
was  told.  He  gripped  the  ladder  obediently  and  stood 
with  his  eyes  uplifted  as  for  celestial  miracles  to  be 
performed.  For  some  unknown  reason  his  heart  was 
beating  with  violence. 

"Here's  all  of  Hardy,"  she  sang  down  airily.  "Of 
course  you've  read  'Tess,'  "  and  though  he  had  not  done 
so,  he  answered  like  a  chant,  "Of  course  I've  read 
'Tess,'  "  hearing  the  echo  of  her  voice  in  the  air  long 
after  his  should  have  crowded  it  out.  She  played 
among  the  books  and  in  the  front  of  the  shop  Rolf  knew 
that  the  coffee  grinding  was  accomplished  and  that  the 
mellow  little  man  who  was  busied  serving  them  would 
see  him  when  he  lifted  Muffet  down.  For  he  must  lift 
her  down.  He  felt  it  in  his  bones.  He  recognized  it 
as  an  immense  preordination.  She  looked  so  light  as 
she  stood  above  him,  so  almost  elfin,  like  one  who  is 
sweeping  the  cobwebs  from  the  moon. 


The  Heart's  Justice  109 

"Ah,"  she  suddenly  informed  him,  and  this  time  her 
voice  vibrated  distinctly.  "Here  is  Butler's  'The  Way 
of  All  Flesh.'  If  you've  never  read  a  novel,"  the 
roguery  of  her  voice  took  away  the  indictment,  "you 
couldn't  do  better.  Now,  I  warn  you,  stand  clear.  I 
am  about  to  descend." 

It  was  the  moment.  Rolf  looked  to  the  front  of  the 
shop  and  saw  the  old  man  and  a  ball  of  pink  twine. 
He  looked  back  and  saw  Muffet's  small  foot  and  ankle 
in  a  gaiter  feeling  for  the  round  below.  And  he  knew 
he  must  lift  her  down,  knew  he  must  lift  her  down.  .  .  . 
There,  ineffable  moment!  He  had  her  in  his  arms. 
And  having  her  made  him  feel  a  giant.  It  was  but  a 
moment  that  he  held  her,  but  during  that  time  all  the 
forces  which  make  for  evolution  were  at  work.  Some- 
thing had  taken  place  that  could  not  be  gone  back  upon, 
some  burning  thing  was  accomplished  and  -set  to  .cool 
among  the  stars. 

Rolf  set  her  down  and  she  looked  at  him  with  swift 
questioning.  She  was  not  one  to  condone  a  liberty 
taken.  But  then  he  was  smart  enough  to  laugh  in- 
stantly, to  turn  away  as  to  say  that  the  affair  was  of 
no  account,  or  that  if  she  would  climb  ladders  she  must 
be  treated  like  a  child.  Almost  visibly  she  made  up 
her  mind  and  her  decision  was  to  take  no  offense.  But 
she  had  misgivings  about  the  librarian. 

Then  they  were  out  in  the  sweeping  night,  seeking 
Wedgewater  Road  under  a  fretful  sky  and  bending, 
filigreed  trees. 

Somewhere  there  was  a  moon, 

".  .  .  Like  a  dying  lady,  lean  and  pale, 
Who  totters  forth,  wrapt  in  a  gauzy  veil, 
Out  of  her  chamber  led  by  the  insane 
And  feeble  wanderings  of  her  fading  brain  .  .  ." 


no  The  Heart's  Justice 

The  wind  blew  and  the  two  figures  cut  through  it 
valiantly.  Muffet  was  walking  very  fast,  whether  in 
some  sense  perturbed  by  what  had  taken  place  in  the 
coffee  shop  or  merely  from  force  of  habit.  And  Rolf 
enjoyed  her  walking,  enjoyed  that  she  should  seem  to 
be  a  half  foot  ahead  of  him,  like  a  winged  victory  fleeing 
that  he  might  pursue.  A  scrap  of  poetry  he  had  not 
known  he  remembered  came  back  to  him  from  his  high 
school  days,  "Swift  and  tameless  and  proud."  At  last 
he  could  apply  it.  The  scarf  flung  over  her  shoulder 
rode  on  the  wind  and  was  swift  enough  to  elude  him. 
To-night  he  did  not  want  to  catch  up;  he  wanted  to 
follow,  to  be  conscious  of  the  chase,  to  know  that  when 
he  was  ready  he  could  overtake  her.  Ah,  well  that  she 
could  not  know  the  huge  laughter  in  his  soul! 


Chapter  XII 


WHEN  David  returned  to  the  factory  there  was 
no  longer  any  excuse  for  Aunt  Lu  to  linger. 
Besides,  she  was  almost,  if  not  quite,  ready  for 
pastures  new.  The  visit  had  proved  a  disappointment 
from  whichever  angle  she  viewed  it.  In  that  household 
were  no  meaty  morsels  for  the  nourishment  of  a  depre- 
dacious  spirit.  David  and  his  daughter  subsisted  on 
what  seemed  to  Aunt  Lu  peculiarly  savorless  fare. 
What  amused  them  was  certainly  not  productive  of 
mirth  to  the  old  lady,  and  as  they  refused  to  indulge 
in  the  mild  dissipation  of  discussing  their  neighbors 
she  was  left  quite  without  social  resource.  She  re- 
venged herself  by  the  secret  knowledge  of  scandal. 

It  had  been  a  long  time  since  the  name  of  Khoda 
Harlow  was  pronounced  with  lively  speculation.  Its 
utterance  had  long  since  ended  in  a  yawn,  for  even  in 
very  small  and  aware  communities  gossip  must  have 
food  on  which  to  thrive.  And  there  had  been  none. 
Not  for  over  ten  years.  But  facts  never  died  in  Aunt 
Lu.  They  continued,  active  as  ants,  and  ever  on  the 
watch  to  inflate  themselves.  It  was  extraordinary  how 
well  David  had  succeeded  in  covering  his  wife's  tracks, 
the  snowfall  of  silence  that  obliterated  her.  But  Aunt 
Lu  remembered  and  a  curiosity  born  of  dangerous  idle- 
ness gave  color  to  her  boredom.  So,  during  those  last 

111 


112  The  Heart's  Justice 

days  which  she  spent  in  the  house  on  Wedgewater  Road, 
days  when  David  was  absent  at  the  factory  and  Muffet 
had  gone  to  town,  she  sleuthed  shamelessly.  It  was 
only  reasonable  to  believe  that  somewhere  in  that  care- 
less house  lay  a  clew  to  her.  And  once  she  could  hit 
upon  it  Aunt  Lu's  social  success  was  assured  for  a  year 
to  come.  She  could  return  to  the  Albion  Harlows  or 
she  could  go  on  to  the  Joseph  Harlows  in  Boston  and 
could  pay  her  way  in  the  coin  of  keenest  gossip.  A 
delectable  tidbit  for  jaded  palates!  "You've  thought 
Rhoda  Harlow  must  be  dead?"  she  would  say  with  a 
smacking  of  withered  lips.  "No,  no,  my  dears,  she's 
very  much  alive."  And  then,  with  maddening  delib- 
eration and  innuendo  she  would  unfold  a  tale.  .  .  . 

A  search  of  the  house  proving  fruitless,  she  was  one 
day  inspired.  In  David's  workshop  was  an  old  desk, 
an  ugly  Victorian  monument  comprising  a  bookcase  and 
escritoire,  and  stuffed  like  a  Christmas  turkey  with  a 
heterogeneous  collection  of  papers.  Sawdust  and  shav- 
ing choked  the  cubby-holes  and  dust  rose  in  smothering 
clouds  whenever  a  resident  paper  was  disturbed.  Aunt 
Lu  began  to  suspect  the  escritoire  and  to  promise  her- 
self that  it  should  have  a  complete  overhauling.  And 
as  fortune  favors  alike  the  wise  and  the  indiscreet  her 
opportunity  presented  itself,  clicked  heels  together  and 
murmured,  "Madame,  at  your  service !" 

The  place  was  beautifully  deserted ;  even  Vannie  had 
absented  herself  on  a  visit  to  a  dark  household  now 
glamorous  with  a  visitation  of  twins.  Aunt  Lu  watched 
Vannie's  broad  back  retreating  down  the  road  and 
donned  her  cape  tremblingly.  Her  lips  were  fumbling 
and  working  at  a  covert  smile  that  would  wander  out 
and  in,  out  and  in.  There  was  still  ice  on  the  ground 
and  she  hoped  she  would  not  slip;  she  labored  against 


The  Heart's  Justice  113 

fracture  and  frustration.  She  was  meanly  careful  all 
the  way  and  arrived  at  the  workshop  with  her  limbs 
intact.  She  tossed  aside  her  wrap  at  once,  and,  finding 
her  two  pairs  of  spectacles,  worried  them  onto  her  nose. 
Thus  equipped,  she  went  straight  to  her  task.  She  was 
obliged  to  work  very  carefully  so  as  not  to  leave  tell- 
tale finger-prints  on  the  desk,  and,  Lord-a-mercy !  what 
a  litter  was  before  her !  Nearly  everything  in  that  desk 
cried  out  against  its  owner,  the  crisp  or  yellowing  ac- 
counts bearing  trenchant  reminders  of  settlements  long 
overdue.  Alone,  they  would  have  proved  sufficiently 
interesting  to  have  stayed  the  prying  fingers  of  Aunt  Lu 
had  she  not  been  stalking  bigger  game.  Now  and  then 
she  would  forget  and  go  off  at  a  tangent,  say  over  some 
little  personal  communication  which  was  deliciously 
none  of  her  business.  But  in  the  main  she  worked  with 
direction.  The  rusty  hands  of  the  wall  clock  moved 
with  humor,  but  she  heeded  them  not. 

She  had  found  a  key  and  the  key  in  turn  unlocked  a 
warped  and  difficult  little  drawer  under  the  shelf  of 
books,  and  in  the  drawer,  when  she  had  argued  it  out, 
were  letters  of  a  more  intimate  character.  A  woman's 
handwriting  undeniably,  and,  as  she  told  herself  with 
a  nodding  brilliance,  the  handwriting  of  an  extravagant 
woman.  The  arrogant  Rhoda,  even  in  those  first  days 
of  matrimonial  ingratiation,  had  never  favored  David's 
relatives  with  her  correspondence,  but  Aunt  Lu  was 
instinctively  tremulous  over  the  careless  "y's"  that  for- 
got to  pick  up  their  tails  and  the  spirited  "t's"  that 
listened  to  no  laws.  Her  lips  fumbled  and  she  fought 
with  her  spectacles. 

But  before  she  could  apply  herself  to  the  content 
of  the  letter  an  interruption  occurred  in  the  nature  of 
a  warning.  There  was  a  slight  explosion  in  the  stove 


114  The  Heart's  Justice 

but  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  frighten  the  old  ladj 
nearly  out  of  her  wits.  She  darted  to  the  window,  only 
to  see  what  completely  demoralized  her,  the  figure  of 
Muffet  coming  slowly  along  the  path  from  the  rear  of 
the  house.  Frantically  she  closed  and  locked  the  drawer 
which  she  had  pillaged,  only  to  remember  when  it  was 
too  late  that  she  still  held  the  letter  in  her  hand.  And 
Muffet  was  approaching  the  workshop  with  her  sure, 
skimming  step.  In  another  minute  she  would  open  the 
door  and  demand  an  explanation.  What  was  her  aunt 
doing  in  David's  sanctum  ?  Aunt  Lu  looked  about  her 
like  a  great  ruffled  bird  and  her  hand  shot  out  at  ran- 
dom. Behind  David's  model  engine  a  sheet  of  alum- 
inum had  been  tacked  to  the  wall,  an  indifferent  piece 
of  work  with  a  slight  bulge  from  fitting.  Into  this 
opening  Aunt  Lu  deftly  slipped  the  letter,  right-about- 
faced,  and  was  busied  scooping  up  a  handful  of  shavings 
when  Muffet  opened  the  door. 

"Why,  Aunt  Lu,  I  thought  you  were  lost." 

There  was  a  pause,  thick  with  heart-beats  and  hurried 
thinking,  while  Aunt  Lu  ostentatiously  gathered  her 
shavings.  Then  she  had  found  her  answer  and  mouthed 
it  with  acerbity, 

"Don't  know  what  call  you  got  to  be  thinking  that. 
I'm  going  to  pack  that  tea-pot  that  was  my  mother's 
and  I  don't  want  it  should  break." 

"Oh,"  said  Muffet  between  two  doubts.  Then,  dis- 
missing them  both  from  a  mind  that  was,  after  all,  blue 
water  with  a  sandy  bottom,  she  observed  pleasantly, 
"It's  like  Greenland  out  here.  Better  come  in  and  let 
me  make  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"Later,"  thought  Aunt  Lu,  little  hectic  spots  of  color 
in  her  dry  parchment  cheeks,  "later  I'll  slip  out  again 
and  get  it  .  .  ." 


The  Heart's  Justice  115 

But  the  same  officious  fate  that  had  put  temptation 
in  her  way  had  as  deliberately  withdrawn,  carrying  all 
its  opportunities  in  a  bundle.  It  seemed  that  she  liter- 
ally could  not  shake  off  Muffet  that  day  or  the  next, 
and  at  four  o'clock  the  following  afternoon  the  Albion 
Harlows  sent  their  motor  to  carry  her  back  to  Thread- 
ville.  There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  go,  which 
she  did,  with  a  haunted  backward  look  in  the  direction 
of  the  workshop. 

"When  I  come  again  .  .  ."  she  promised  herself 
condolingly. 

But  that  spring,  before  the  first  violet  showed  in  the 
meadows,  Aunt  Lu  had  left  her  petty  concerns  and 
curiosities  behind  her  and  had  passed  on  into  the  great, 
solvent  state  of  simplicity.  .  .  . 


ii 


The  Wedgewater  Ship  and  Engine  Company  held  its 
directors'  meetings  on  the  first  Monday  of  the  month, 
the  hour  appointed  being  eleven  in  the  morning.  It 
was  young  March  and  the  weather  outside  as  dirty  as 
the  washings  of  a  gutter.  Nevertheless  the  handsome 
directors'  room  of  the  new  executive  office  building 
shone  with  pristine  splendor.  The  walls  were  tinted 
that  recognized  "new  shade"  of  heavy  cream  that  will 
whip  with  the  first  half-dozen  turns  of  the  beater,  and 
apportioned  into  panels  as  crisp  and  clean  as  the  tricks 
that  a  knife  will  do  on  new  frosting.  In  the  center  of 
each  panel  grew  mushroom  clusters  of  lights  in  the 
form  of  fat  candles  with  frosted  flames.  But  as  though 
the  side  lighting  were  a  mere  whim,  en  passant,  over- 
head a  pendant  bowl  of  imitation  alabaster  informed 


Ii6  The  Heart's  Justice 

the  ceiling  and  vicariously  illumined  the  room.  The 
windows  were  curtained  and  lamburkined  in  handsome, 
wholesale  brown  velvet  with  linings  of  copper-colored 
metal  cloth,  the  floor  was  deep  in  moss  of  the  same  dye, 
the  preposterous  long  table  and  congress  of  chairs  shone 
like  the  complexion  of  negroes  in  summer. 

Into  this  fashionable  chamber  of  finance  sifted  the 
ten  particular  men  who  comprised  the  officers  of  the 
company,  and  its  stockholders  of  influence  and  large 
holdings.  For  the  greater  part  they  were  middle-aged 
and  undistinguished  in  appearance,  mere  dark-clothed, 
animate  males,  moving  about  sootily  in  the  luscious 
daintiness  of  that  interior  like  flies  in  a  bowl  of  milk. 
They  talked  and  gesticulated  in  groups,  dispersed  or 
coagulated  informally  till  the  meeting  should  begin, 
immersed  and  mighty  in  their  absorption  but  to  an  on- 
looker no  whit  more  imposing  than  the  leggy  insects 
striking  out  in  the  cream  jug. 

At  length  the  chairman  hammers  for  order ;  all  move 
to  their  seats  with  solemn  obligation,  become  orderly 
flies  about  a  huge  lake  of  molasses.  Thus  arranged  and 
immobile,  they  offer  themselves  as  a  typical  enough 
exhibit  of  modern  men,  big  business  brains,  nimble- 
witted  Americans.  Innately,  they  are  furnished  with 
capabilities,  potentialities  developed  to  the  nth  power, 
precocious  courage  of  a  financial  kind.  They  have 
reached  a  plane  of  absolute  surety;  like  tortoises  they 
carry  their  tough  shells  of  business  reputation  smug  on 
their  backs — once  they  have  acquired  these  shells  nothing 
can  hurt  them.  An  inspiring  sight,  surely,  to  the  shell- 
less  and  vulnerable. 

But,  observing  each  man  coolly,  something  of  worship 
falls  off.  To  look  like  a  business  man  is  not,  after  all, 
to  look  like  a  Greek  god.  The  process  of  succeeding 


The  Heart's  Justice  117 

has  its  own  forms  of  physical  registry, — one  may 
become  elephant-creased  with  a  thousand  little  lines, 
become,  as  it  were,  a  map  of  his  own  complicated  system 
of  success.  Another  succumbs  to  paunchiness  of  too 
much  office  occupation  and  is  anchored  by  his  abdomen. 
Yet  another  swells  uniformly  all  over  like  an  amazed 
balloon;  every  pocket  baggy  with  dividends.  Others 
are  merely  dull  with  smartness,  ordinary,  square-headed 
men,  platitudinous  and  gray  outside  business,  men 
working  for  families  and  innocent,  ambitious  wives  that 
they  take  south  once  a  year. 

These  are  the  ones  who  marched  at  home  all  during 
the  Great  War,  the  munition  workers  whose  dark  fac- 
tories struck  a  flash  from  midnight,  the  capitalists  of 
all  kinds,  making  accoutrements  for  soldiers  and  them- 
selves clinking  with  cash  at  every  step.  Beyond  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  Rolf  Sterling,  secretary  and  treasurer 
of  the  company,  is  the  only  beautiful  one  among  them. 
Even  seated  he  is  a  tower  among  squat  buildings;  he 
is  straight  as  a  meridian — his  tailor  has  had  something 
to  inspire  him.  And  in  addition  to  this  spectacular 
build  of  his  he  has  the  fierce,  frowning  good  looks  of  an 
allegorical  figure  in  a  painting.  With  that  look  he 
might  lead  crusades;  he  might  wander  "naked  among 
trysted  swords." 

But  no — ironically — he  fights  only  the  battles  that 
are  won,  cohorts  before  and  behind  him,  made  up  of  the 
paunched,  the  seared,  and  the  merely  rotund,  strange 
civilian  soldiers  who  march  without  vision  but  who  keep 
amazing  step.  .  .  .  Rolf  believes  in  the  integrity  of 
getting  rich  as  devoutly  as  he  believes  that  his  mother 
was  a  virtuous  woman.  His  interests,  as  he  is  fond  of 
saying,  are  identical  with  those  of  the  company,  always 
have  been,  always  will  be,  and  when  he  says  the  company 


n8  The  Heart's  Justice 

he  means  the  ten  particular  men  whose  funds  it  is  his 
privilege  to  handle.  Already  his  popularity  with  the 
laborers  has  begun  to  wane,  already  they  turn  from  that 
bright,  evangelical  look  with  crying  disappointment. 

To-day,  the  current  affairs  of  the  concern  having  been 
discussed,  the  loans,  notes,  and  general  business  of  the 
meeting  h'aving  been  efficiently  disposed  of,  Rolf  rises 
to  speak  on  another  matter,  one  which  has  engaged  his 
interest  and  seems  worthy  of  the  consideration  of  the 
stockholders.  Here  in  the  year  Nineteen  Twenty-one, 
while  nations  convene  about  camp-fires,  passing  the  pipe 
and  making  great  talk  of  amalgamated  peace,  great  ges- 
tures of  scrapping  navies  and  disbanding  their  armies 
as  they  would  sweep  clean  a  table  of  toy  soldiers — 
behind  all  this  posturing  and  palavering  the  inventors 
are  busy.  Experimentation  goes  steadily  on. 

And  it  is  Rolf's  purpose  to  lay  before  them  to-day  the 
matter  of  just  such  an  invention,  the  hooded  work  of  a 
man  in  their  own  employ,  David  Harlow,  perhaps  the 
oldest  and  most  experienced  of  their  draftsmen.  This 
Harlow,  spending  practically  his  life  in  close  association 
with  the  company's  engine,  has  become  most  sensitive 
to  its  needs.  And  after  years  of  endeavor  he  has  at  last 
expressed  his  ideas  concretely  in  an  improved  valve  and 
valve  gear  for  the  Deisel  engine.  Rolf  has  inspected 
the  model  many  times — he  has,  in  fact,  given  quite  the 
entire  winter  to  a  mature  reflection  on  its  merits,  and  to 
an  exhaustive  study  of  what  its  adoption  would  mean 
to  the  company,  in  probable  expense  and  profit.  .  .  . 
And,  having  roused  an  attentive  interest  in  the  ten  par- 
ticular men,  Rolf  launches  into  a  long  and  complicated 
description  of  David  Harlow's  work.  Rolf's  judgment 
has  been  proven  sound ;  in  all  probabilities  he  will  one 
day  evolve  into  a  turtle  as  hard-shelled  as  the  rest.  They 


The  Heart's  Justice  119 

respect  his  conservative  thrift — they  give  his  proposi- 
tion the  grave  consideration  that  any  suggestion  from 
him  must  deserve.  And  the  outcome  of  it  all  is  that, 
the  time  being  limited  to-day,  a  special  meeting  is  set 
for  the  end  of  the  week — a  meeting  for  the  sole  and 
flattering  purpose  of  weighing  the  matter.  There  will 
be  David's  drawings  to  show  and  perhaps  David  him- 
self as  the  god  of  the  machine.  A  glamor  is  stealing 
down  Wedgewater  Road;  the  dirty  day  is  picking  up. 
And  exactly  as  the  meeting  ends  Muffet  Harlow  ceases 
mending  the  carpet. 

She  has  felt  the  sun  emerge  by  a  merriment  along 
her  veins,  and  getting  into  her  reefer,  goes  dashing 
out  into  the  freshets  of  melted  snow,  forgetting  quite 
her  galoshes. 


Chanter  XIII 


ROLF,  enduring  until  spring,  was  fated  to  avowal 
the  last  night  of  May.  For  a  matter  of  eight 
months  he  had  suffered  the  rigors  of  love  in 
dark,  dumb  acquiescence.  He  had  reached  the  stage 
where  all  his  inhibitions  of  pride  or  caution  were  cast 
to  the  winds.  Right  well  he  knew  that  no  fruit  in 
Muffet's  heart  hung  ripe  for  him,  yet  like  a  rash  and 
greedy,  plundering  child  he  was  all  for  despoiling  her, 
for  seizing  the  May-green  fruitage  of  her  fancy,  scarce 
out  of  bud.  Later  he  would  wonder  why  these  same 
tart,  wild  apples  had  not  nourished  him. 

Muffet,  it  had  come  to  him  at  odd  hours,  was  the 
product  of  her  life  of  isolation,  her  sedentary  and  intro- 
spective habits,  her  bleak  refinements  of  thought,  her 
Harlow  blood.  He  doubted  if  even  to  herself  she 
spelled  reality,  if  she  bore  any  relationship  to  the 
world  at  large.  And  this  was  the  fault  of  her  father. 
He  had  given  her  no  schooling  in  human  intercourse  by 
which  to  develop.  He  had  sedulously  kept  her  from  asso- 
ciation with  all  that  was  young  and  merry,  or  grim  and 
enlightening.  .  .  .  He  granted  her  indulgence  for  books 
and  foolishly  believed  that  in  so  doing  he  was  vicar- 
iously providing  her  with  a  recipe  for  life,  that  one 
learned  at  home  without  danger  or  suffering.  All  her 

120 


The  Heart's  Justice  121 

defenses  were  false,  reasoned  Rolf,  because  founded 
on  fiction,  yet  though  he  railed  at  them  he  could  not 
lift  a  hand  against  the  paper  partitions.  She  was 
formidably  guarded  by  her  innocence.  How  was  he 
to  lead  her  to  the  knowledge  and  recognition  of  love, 
as  a  natural,  desirable  consummation  when  she  was, 
to  use  a  scholastic  term,  "behind  in  everything?" 

He  had  sometimes  thought  that  she  feared  exploita- 
tion. Surely  that  awareness,  that  sharp  battle  was  what 
he  had  seen  in  her  eyes  the  day  he  lifted  her  from  the 
ladder.  Did  she  believe  in  a  conspiracy  against  her, 
one  tacitly  agreed  upon  between  her  father  and  him- 
self ?  He  wondered.  He  had  waited  with  what  was 
for  him  a  singular  patience,  giving  his  whole  concen- 
trated energy  to  her  winning,  that  very  smartness  which 
served  him  so  well  in  business  warning  him  not  to 
strike  till  the  propitious  moment  came.  But  this  tra- 
vail of  May-blossoming,  and  the  terribly  normal  tide 
of  his  increasing  passion — how  was  he  to  resist  them  ? 

In  the  Harlow  meadows  the  green  was  interrupted  by 
long  drifts  of  forget-me-not,  each  flower  a  pale  tree 
in  the  midget  world.  The  brook  ran  free  after  its 
bondage,  singing  differently  than  at  any  other  time  of 
the  year,  staining  its  banks  emerald  and  deeper  than 
that,  staining  its  banks  blue.  Little,  shaky  shadows 
were  under  the  alders  and  birches,  everywhere  small 
and  comic  leaves,  pale  yellow  or  pink,  that  thought 
themselves  green.  The  robin  swelled  into  obesity ;  busy 
neet-biiilders  came  into  Muffet's  window  and  filched  a 
strand  of  yellow  silk  from  her  work-basket.  Behind 
the  closed  blind  of  the  living  room  the  Jenny  Wrens 
were  back,  fussy  and  preoccupied.  And  then,  slowly, 
farther  along  in  this  scheme  of  rejuvenation  and  re- 
decoration  the  wistaria  on  the  side  of  the  old  house 


122  The  Heart's  Justice 

quickened;  against  the  silver  clapboards  lavender  was 
born.  Muffet  saw  the  miracle  and  saw  it  miraculously. 
For  all  her  ascetic  slumber  it  sent  a  little  pain  to  he* 
heart.  The  pain  was  uncredentialed,  but  she  welcomed 
it  and  let  it  build  like  the  birds.  She  talked  a  great  deal 
about  the  wistaria,  and  showed  it  to  every  one  who  came. 

Rolf  found  her  on  the  broken  bench  before  it  one 
afternoon  when  he  called.  It  was  a  working  day  and 
her  father  immured  at  the  factory.  But  Rolf  was  a 
truant  on  Wedgewater  Road,  a  fact  that  seemed  to 
Muffet  unethical.  Nevertheless  she  saw  him  looking 
at  the  wistaria  and  because  she  thought  he  admired  it 
she  was  caught  off-guard.  The  smile  that  was  suddenly 
sweet  along  her  lips  and  warm  in  her  eyes  almost 
blinded  him. 

It  was  exactly  what  her  face  needed.  In  repose 
its  tremendous  gravity,  its  childish  inaccessibility  had 
always  disheartened  him.  She  did  not  remark  of 
the  wistaria,  "It's  beautiful,  isn't  it  ?"  as  another  might 
obviously  have  done,  but  her  eyes  joined  his  in  tribute 
and  for  a  moment  each  was  content  and  in  concord  till 
Rolf  blundered  unconscionably. 

"That  vine's  a  tree  and  mostly  dead.  It  ought  to  be 
cut  out." 

Then  her  lip  trembled  into  a  very  different  kind 
of  a  smile  and  she  remembered  that  he  was  Rolf  Ster- 
ling. He  probably  made  every  mistake  which  was  con- 
sistent with  his  character.  Only  one  instinct  held  true 
with  him,  the  sound  instinct  of  passion,  accumulated 
and  headlong.  All  that  he  recognized  in  the  dazzling, 
delicious  day  was  a  force  impelling  his  declaration.  .  .  . 
Muffet,  now  aloof  and  controlled,  devoted  to  her  eternal 
sock-mending  there  on  the  shaggy  bench,  yet  en  rapport 


The  Heart's  Justice  123 

with  the  slow  magic  of  May,  was  wholly  unprepared 
for  the  revelation  of  the  new  Sterling. 

Her  silver  needle  glinting,  she  glanced  up,  too  ironical 
for  friendliness,  yet  too  friendly  for  quarrels  on  such 
a  day.  And  there  she  saw  not  the  ohtuse  man  of  the 
remark  about  the  wistaria  vine,  but  an  enkindled  Rolf, 
looking,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  miserable,  but  mis- 
erable on  a  large  and  compelling  scale,  urgent  with 
some  new  kind  of  roughness  that  made  him  very  hand- 
some. 

"Let's  go  out  there,"  he  said  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  toward  the  forget-me-not  field.  "I  want  to  talk." 

"Talk?"  Her  facile  contempt  vanished  for  some 
more  respectful  attitude  of  the  soul. 

He  nodded.  "But  not  here.  I  feel  as  if  that  old 
colored  woman  of  yours  was  somewhere  listening  to 
every  word  I  say." 

"She's  not.  She's  gone  to  town."  Immediately  she 
had  reassured  him  Muffet  was  sorry.  She  put  away 
her  needle,  trembling,  troubled. 

"I  want  to  go  into  that  field,"  the  man  said  doggedly 
and  looked  away  from  her  at  the  cool  stretches  of  blue 
and  green  and  violet.  His  eyes  were  hot  in  color,  the 
whites  suffused  as  though  with  helpless  tears.  "That 
field — "  But  the  emotion  which  it  had  stirred  in  him 
would  not  go  into  phrases.  Rolf  was  not  the  man  to 
escape  in  words. 

"That  field — '  he  began  again  and  finished  disap- 
pointingly, "that's  where  I  want  to  walk." 

She  was  sufficiently  moved  to  obey  him  and  rose,  like 
one  who,  in  hypnosis,  is  the  chattel  of  another's  will. 
Rolf  remembered  what  her  father  had  told  him  about 
her  nocturnal  peregrinations  and  fancied  that  in  slumber 
she  must  look  this  way,  her  face  white  like  a  flower 


124  The  Heart's  Justice 

closed  against  the  cold.  Only  once  at  the  brook  her 
smile  made  an  effort  at  lightness  and  she  quoted  under 
her  breath, 

"  'By  brooks  too  broad  for  leaping  .  .  .' " 

He  saw  the  smile  and  was  jealous  of  some  allusion 
that  she  shared  with  herself. 
"What  are  you  saying?" 
"That  is  from  a  poem,  'A  Shropshire  Lad/ 

"  'By  brooks  too  broad  for  leaping 
The  lightfoot  boys  are  laid; 
The  rose-lipt  girls  are  sleeping 
In  fields  where  roses  fade.  .  .  .' " 

She  gave  the  verse  apologetically  but  whether  her 
apologies  were  to  Sterling  or  the  author  was  not  clear. 
The  former  surprised  her  by  commenting, 

"Yes,  that's  true  poetry,  I  guess,  but  why  would  you 
rather  live  in  a  thing  like  that  than — than  the  real 
thing?"  He  was  vehement  so  that  she  laughed,  but 
indulgently,  and  with  no  attempt  to  explain. 

The  field  was  immense  for  their  pilgrimage,  dizzying 
with  these  mazes  of  forget-me-nots,  deep  sapphire  cran- 
nies, little  islands  in  the  lowland  where  the  soil  was 
dry  and  may-flower  and  Indian  tobacco  flourished.  Rolf 
lifted  his  head  and  the  taint  of  civilization  slid  easily 
from  him.  It  was  symbolic  of  his  love  for  Muffet 
Harlow  that  he  had  longed  to  be  with  her  here ;  another 
girl  he  would  most  probably  have  wooed  sitting  beside 
her  on  a  drawing-room  divan,  in  an  atmosphere  of 
cigarette  smoke  and  hot-house  roses. 

"This  is,"  he  said,  "this  is  .  .  ."  and  not  caring 
now  whether  or  not  he  finished  the  sentence  he  left  it 
untidy. 


The  Heart's  Justice  125 

"This  is  the  most  magic  meadow  in  the  world,"  she 
completed  it  for  him,  orderly  with  words  and  apt, 
because  of  her  reading. 

He  looked  his  admiration  for  her  accomplishment. 

"I  like  walking  with  you,"  he  sighed  with  a  tre- 
mendous naivete,  as  their  shoes  sank  into  the  spongy 
ground.  He  had  no  picturesque  phrases  with  which 
to  impress  her  and  all  the  way  through  because  his 
speech  was  undistinguished  she  made  the  mistake  of 
suspecting  him  of  coarseness. 

They  had  forded  a  second  brook  and  were  about  to 
climb  the  long  slope  beyond  when  abruptly  his  hand 
found  and  closed  about  hers. 

"Muffet,  I  am  going  to  marry  you,"  he  announced. 
Xot,  "Muffet,  will  you  marry  me?" 

The  voice  was  harsh,  and  the  pressure  of  his  hand 
startled  her  as  much  as  the  words.  She  stood  there 
in  the  quickened  grass,  frightened,  quite  simply  Jiors 
de  combat.  Her  intuition  in  regard  to  him  had  not 
been  at  fault,  it  seemed.  A  coarse  conqueror,  he  had 
not  even  offered  her  the  delicacy  of  a  declaration  of 
love.  Only  the  statement  that  he  would  marry  her, 
stiff,  like  a  stick.  Muffet's  book-bred  sensibilities  re- 
volted. Tears  of  swift  shame,  vexation,  filled  her  eyes. 
The  cold  left  her.  She  could  speak. 

"You  have  no  right  to  say  such  a  thing."  She 
wrenched  her  hand  from  him  and  nursed  it  in  the 
other.  Her  eyes  widened.  "Why,  I  don't  know  you. 
I  don't  know  you  at  all.  I've  never  thought  of  you  in 
that  way.  I've  never  thought " 

She  saw  the  hot  color  mounting  to  his  head. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  flinging  out  an  impatient  gesture, 
and  his  desperation  was  very  real.  "What  shall  I  do 
with  you,  what  shall  I  do  with  a  girl  like  you  ?  You've 


126  The  Heart's  Justice 

known  me  nearly  a  year.  You're  intelligent — you  must 
have  seen  how  it  was  with  me — "  And  going  off  at 
a  tangent  he  cried,  "I'll  tell  you  what  is  wrong — you 
don't  know  anything  about  life — your  ignorance  is 
appalling,  it's — it's  almost  a  crime.  You  think  you 
know,  you're  nourished  on  books  and  nonsense  and 
pretty  lies,  but  you  don't  know  anything.  You're 
morally  ten  years  old.  You're  an  iceberg.  And 
besides  all  that  you  have  the  will  of  a  little  bantam. 
It  needs  breaking — you  need  breaking,  and  I'm  ready 
for  the  job." 

"Oh,"  she  cried  in  a  bitter  wail,  "you're  disgusting. 
You're — you're  simply  a  beast.  I  hate  everything 
about  you." 

The  ferocity  of  her  disdain  goaded  his  anger.  She 
had  never  seemed  so  formidable  an  aristocrat,  and 
because  his  words  could  not  prevail  against  her  he 
lost  his  head  completely.  There  on  the  gentle  bank 
he  had  her  in  his  arms  and  was  kissing  her  with  a 
raging  brutality.  It  was  an  unfair  advantage  but  the 
inevitable  outcome  of  long  suppression  and  a  will  as 
perilous  as  her  own.  She  suffered  his  kisses  and  her 
mind  was  one  black,  flying  hatred.  But  immediately 
he  had  released  her  and  the  air  was  thick  with  the 
pitiful  stinging  epithets  that  she  found  for  him.  So  they 
stood  till  Rolf  reeled  away  from  her  and  heavily,  inex- 
plicably flung  himself  on  the  ground.  Appalling  sounds 
came  from  him,  sobs  and  labored  breathing.  Oh,  but  she 
was  sick  and  sore,  sick  and  sore.  For  a  time  she  thought 
only  of  that  .  .  .  Still,  it  was  strange  to  hear  a 
man  give  way.  She  had  heard  her  father  cry  once. 
She  peeped  covertly  at  Rolf,  her  anger  against  him 
tempered  by  a  superior  scorn  for  his  weakness. 
She  subsided  on  the  bank  to  get  her  ideas  into  order. 


The  Heart's  Justice  127 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  hill  and  all  at  once  it  was 
cold  with  a  fickle  drop  in  temperature  of  a  late  spring 
day.  Muffet's  eyes  were  sad,  sad  for  herself  and,  yes, 
for  the  one  who  had  blundered  so  unforgivably.  Be- 
cause he  now  seemed  to  her  so  completely  undeserving 
of  her  thought  she  could  afford  to  be  a  little  kind.  This 
kindness  was  cooler  than  hatred  but  more  deadly.  She 
rose  and  straightening  her  jersey  and  flinging  the  hair 
out  of  her  eyes  she  went  over  and  stood  beside  him, 
looking  down  upon  him  as  at  some  stupid,  erring  Titan, 
ignominiously  brought  to  defeat.  This  was  the  fiasco 
of  the  philosophy  by  which  he  lived.  There  was  the 
light  patronage  of  her  fingers  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  suppose  you  know,"  she  said,  "that  my  father 
would  kill  you  for  kissing  me  like  that !  Are  you  sorry 
for  what  you  have  done  ?" 

But  at  the  touch  a  strange  thing  happened.  His  sobs 
turned  to  laughter.  He  sat  up  laughing  and  with  a 
great  laugh  clasped  her  knees. 

"Sorry  ?  Sorry  ?  Only  for  myself,"  he  cried  incor- 
rigibly, "for  what  I've  suffered  waiting  for  you,"  and 
in  the  monstrous  stress  of  his  joy  he  went  on  laughing 
against  her  knees  and  saying,  "You're  going  to  marry 
me,  Muffet,  and  you're  going  to  be  the  happiest  woman 
in  the  world !" 

ii 

David  had  left  the  factory  at  three  o'clock  that  day 
in  order  to  call  at  Dr.  Dutton's  during  office  hours.  This 
was  a  long-deferred  visit. 

"When  you  get  well  come  in  to  see  me,"  the  doctor 
had  said  during  his  siege  of  illness  in  the  early  spring. 
"I  should  like  to  go  over  you  thoroughly." 


128  The  Heart's  Justice 

But,  possibly  because  he  knew  that  the  doctor 
attached  importance  to  the  request,  David  had  let  it 
go.  Now  an  increasing  disability  made  the  visit  imper- 
ative. He  had  come  to  be  told  the  worst.  The  words 
formed  themselves  into  a  stupid  chant ;  they  buzzed  like 
the  first  vocal  flies  that  were  swarming  toward  the 
ceiling  of  the  waiting-room.  This  place  of  congregation 
was  light  with  a  dusty  cheer.  It  had  paper  the  color 
of  a  tramp's  overcoat  and  on  the  walls  lithographs  of 
once  popular  subjects.  There  was  the  grimly  appro- 
priate interpretation  of  "All  is  vanity,"  a  young  woman 
at  her  dressing  table,  a  priestess  before  scent  bottles 
and  powder  jars,  the  composition  of  mirror  and  shadows 
forming  a  perfect  and  gleeful  skull.  Also  was  offered 
the  one  of  the  country  doctor  lashing  his  horse  in  a  lively 
race  with  the  stork,  holding  in  its  bill  the  imminent 
and  naked  stranger.  The  waiting  patients  would  glance 
at  the  vanity  picture  with  the  gleamless  whisper  of 
"Dreadful"  behind  their  dark-gloved  hands,  but  the 
stork  picture  called  for  a  certain  kind  of  intercommuni- 
cative  smile. 

David  identified  himself  with  the  shabby  assembly, 
no  flicker  of  pretense  about  him  to  being  any  different, 
but  withdrawn  into  his  corner  by  the  open  window, 
many  remarked  the  care-worn,  delicate  face,  the  benig- 
nant gray  head  that  the  sunlight  chose  to  honor.  David 
had  not  told  Muffet  of  the  proposed  visit.  It  would 
have  worried  her  to  know  that  certain  sinister  symptoms 
had  moved  him  to  this  precautionary  measure.  He 
wetted  his  lips.  He  was  never  of  strong  morale  where 
health  was  concerned.  He  had  a  downright  dejected 
horror  of  illness  and  its  ravages,  a  lonely,  superstitious 
dread  of  the  unknown,  and  all  of  these  weaknesses  he 
scorned  in  himself  as  unbefitting  a  gentleman. 


The  Heart's  Justice  129 

The  interminable  hush  of  the  place — the  impersonal 
reek  of  antiseptic  on  the  floor,  the  expressionless,  acci- 
dental faces — all  combined  to'  dishearten  him.  At 
last  he  saw  the  doctor,  a  good  man,  a  contemporary. 
They  called  one  another  "Alf"  and  "Dave."  "Alf" 
knew  that  "Dave"  was  frightened,  knew  that  he  must 
have  had  cause  to  be,  knew  by  his  banter,  his  rueful, 
shaken  smile. 

.  .  .  The  doctor  lived  in  a  great  ambush  of  grizzled 
whiskers,  brusqueries  and  harsh  cheer.  His  "can  o'  cal- 
omel" was  famous,  and  his  bedside  harangues,  but  he  was 
exceptionally  endowed  despite  his  old-fashioned  office 
and  his  blunt  methods;  in  a  great  city  he  might  have 
attained  the  recognition  to  which  his  gifts  entitled  him. 
As  it  was  he  gave  his  days  to  service  and  his  nights  to 
study,  and  was  seldom  known  to  form  an  incorrect 
diagnosis. 

Tenderness  and  truth  fought  hard  in  him  this  day 
when  he  was  called  upon  to  deal  professionally  with 
his  lifelong  friend,  David  Harlow.  They  had  both 
resorted  to  banter  during  the  examination,  but  both 
ended  with  candid  eyes. 

"You're  thinking  about  Muffet,"  said  Dr.  Dutton, 
having  made  all  his  notes  in  a  great  black  book. 

"And  so  are  you,"  retorted  David,  still  with  the 
straining  smile  on  a  face  that  twitched. 

"It's  just  this,"  said  the  doctor,  swallowing  hard, 
his  hand  on  the  other  man's  sleeve.  "Better  to  face  facts, 
Dave,  and  have  the  comfort  of  knowing  'em  settled, 
settled  right.  I  can't  find  it  in  me  to  deceive  you,  old 
friend.  That  heart  of  yours  may  last  you  a  couple  of 
years.  With  kind  treatment  it  may  last  even  longer. 
.  .  .  It's  hard  to  say,  but  frankly,  I  doubt  it.  Now 
the  thing  for  you  to  do,  Dave,  is  to  rest  ...  I 


130  The  Heart's  Justice 

know  that's  easier  said  than  done,  but  if  Muffet  was 
settled  in  life  there'd  be  one  weight  off  your  mind." 

"A  couple  of  years."  David  had  gotten  no  farther 
than  that  in  his  comprehension  of  the  doctor's  findings. 
But  the  doctor  was  going  on  into  the  matter  of  how 
things  might  be  fixed  for  Muffet.  It  was  as  though  the 
doctor,  in  his  wholesale  dealing  with  these  matters  of 
life  and  death,  expected  David  to  accept  the  fact  of  his 
own  impending  demise  with  relative  calm.  But  no, 
the  doctor  was  moved.  The  doctor  was  distressed  and 
that  was  why  he  talked  fast,  reasonably.  David  made 
a  tremendous  effort.  He  rose  and  shook  his  kind 
friend's  hand,  angry  with  the  tears  that  continually 
obscured  his  vision.  He  hung  to  his  smile. 

"Now,  don't  you  go  get  worked  up  over  this."  The 
voice  of  Alf.  "Half  the  world's  got  a  leaky  heart.  Try  to 
save  yourself  as  much  as  possible,  Dave.  Try  to  save 
yourself  as  much  as  possible.  I'll  keep  track  of  you 
all  the  time.  I  only  thought  for  the  sake  of  your  girl 
it  was  fairer  to  warn  you.  .  .  ." 

Then  the  passage  outside  his  consulting  room,  smelling 
of  the  steam  radiator  and  the  doctor's  umbrella,  the 
ineffable  May  afternoon  and  friendly  Main  Street 
leading  out  to  Wedgewater  Road,  all  a  jumble  of 
grocers'  carts  and  shoddy  traffic.  He  walked  along  it 
in  a  curious,  unrelated  state  of  consciousness,  as  a  ghost 
might  have  walked.  In  some  mighty  wrapping  he  was 
enclosed  with  his  super-intelligence,  he  was  once  re- 
moved from  the  sphere  in  which  he  had  lived  and 
breathed  and  had  his  being.  He  was  a  man  apart,  in 
confidence  with  destiny,  because  he  was  going  to  die, 
not  to-day  or  to-morrow,  perhaps,  but  quite  definitely 
soon,  as  people  measure  time. 

His  first  reaction  was  one  of  powerful  and  pitiful 


The  Heart's  Justice  13 1 

fear.  He  had  a  mind  to  lay  hands  upon  the  first  passer- 
by, cling  to  any  normal  individual  he  met  and  wail 
abjectly,  "See  here,  you  won't  let  me  go,  will  you?" 
His  elemental  terror  caused  the  perspiration  to  break 
out  on  his  forehead  though  the  day  was  not  warm. 
.  .  .  He  asked  himself  painfully,  "Is  this  the  part 
of  a  man  ?"  "Is  this  all  I  am  worth  ?"  He  clutched 
for  philosophy,  religion.  Each  exploded  in  his  hand 
like  a  pricked  balloon.  Decay,  that  was  the  chimera  he 
could  not  stand  for — the  fate  from  which  he  shrank 
fastidiously.  He  was  a  Harlow  and  the  Harlows,  when 
they  bred  true  to  type,  were  highstrung  men  and 
women,  with  minds  almost  abnormally  sensitive.  They 
were  not  irreligious  but  they  were  people  of  funda- 
mental pride  and  resource  and  seldom  went  outside 
themselves  for  spiritual  support.  They  did  not  take 
their  troubles  to  church  or  into  the  houses  of  neighbors. 
When  they  had  not  strength  to  abide  them  they  died. 
Neither  would  David  go  outside  himself.  It  was  only 
in  the  first  dripping  agony  that  he  had  tasted  the 
temptation — that  he  had  dreamed  of  human  consola- 
tion. .  .  . 

Presently  on  his  benumbed  way  he  became  aware  of 
a  funeral  cortege.  It  meandered  by  him  with  self-con- 
scious solemnity,  black  glitter  of  carriages,  slow  nosing 
of  limousines,  a  hearse  of  preposterous  ornamentation. 
He  caught  up  with  it  at  the  Catholic  cathedral,  and 
the  fact  pierced  his  shuttered  brain  that  it  was  Michael 
O'Connor's  funeral.  Michael  O'Connor  had  been  a 
rich  contractor  and  a  man  David  had  always  known, 
though  never  intimately  nor  cordially.  Nevertheless 
he  warmed  to  Michael  O'Connor,  dead.  He  immedi- 
ately felt  less  lonely  and  pioneering.  It  seemed  a 
gracious,  intrepid  thing  for  Michael  to  have  gone  first. 


132  The  Heart's  Justice 

There  was  kinship  between  them  now  since  they  were 
so  close,  one  at  either  side  of  the  Great  Experience. 
.  .  .  David  felt  impelled  to  enter  the  church  and  to 
take  part  in  the  ceremony.  It  might  facilitate  matters 
later  on  should  he  and  O'Connor  meet  in  some  vast  free- 
masonry, and  being  Wedgewater  men  exchange  a  civil 
word.  "I  saw  you  at  my  funeral,"  the  Irishman  could 
pass  the  remark.  Yes,  it  would  prevent  embarrassment. 
David  climbed  the  brick  steps,  entered  the  vestibule, 
thronged  with  frock  coats,  was  swept  decorously  into 
the  rich  kernel  of  the  cathedral.  His  esthetic  sense 
had  always  recognized  that  in  Catholicism  was  a  poetic 
appeal,  a  mysterious,  drugging  charm.  It  was  the  only 
show  that  had  survived  out  of  the  Middle  Ages,  bar- 
barous and  beautiful  for  credulous  imaginations.  To- 
day he  saw  great  columns  like  titanic  trees  sweeping 
upward  in  a  blue  haze  of  smoke,  he  saw  candles,  ethereal 
daffodils  growing  before  the  wounded  feet  of  a  Christ 
on  a  crucifix,  whose  blood  glowed  in  intolerable  crim- 
son. He  saw  the  gorgeous  gold  garments  of  the  priests, 
continually  growing  lighter  or  dimmer  in  the  mystic 
haze  before  the  altar,  and  he  felt  the  tremendous 
volume  of  the  organ  filling  the  nave,  pushing  against 
the  heart,  against  the  very  walls  like  a  force  that 
would  be  set  free.  Oh,  it  was  spectacular  and  splendid, 
this  service  to  the  soul  of  Michael  O'Connor  whose 
indifferent  body  now  lay  in  the  black  coffin,  ironically 
made  to  assist  at  an  affair  in  which  it  had  no  interest. 
Grimly  David  reflected  upon  these  things.  But 
gradually  the  music  worked  upon  him,  the  Andante 
Cantabile  of  Tchaikowsky,  the  divine  motive  bearing 
him  into  some  pure  region  of  exaltation,  of  almost 
intolerable  selflessness.  For  the  first  time  he  thought 
of  Muffet  as  the  supreme  sufferer  in  connection  with 


The  Heart's  Justice  133 

his  death.  He  loathed  the  craven  fear  that  had  hitherto- 
kept  him  crouching  in  his  own  ego.  The  music  could 
mean  only  Muffet,  Muffet,  perilously  abandoned  and 
unparented,  his  poor,  pretty,  adored  darling.  It  had 
been  his  whim  to  make  her  wholly  dependent.  In 
Muffet  his  monstrous  vanity  had  placated  and  reinforced 
itself;  had  thriven  and  become  restored.  Oh,  unspeak- 
able. Other  girls  were  armored  for  calamity.  Not  so 
his  daughter.  He  remembered  the  doctor's  words.  "If  you 
could  see  Muffet  settled."  That  meant,  his  love  retro- 
graded bitterly,  if  he  could  see  Muffet  as  the  possession 
of  a  husband,  gone  out  of  his  parental  arms  and  into 
the  arms  of  love,  man-love  which  is  self-seeking.  The 
stubborn  tears  wetted  his  cheeks.  But  had  not  his 
love  been  as  self-seeking  as  any  ?  Yes,  yes,  a  thousand 
times  yes.  That  was  Tchaikowsky  again.  And  there 
was  Rolf  who  loved  her.  True,  she  had  shown  no  sign 
of  response  but  perhaps  that  was  because  David  had 
never  taught  her  to  appreciate  the  congenital  worth  of 
the  man. 

Having  wrought  its  will  the  music  changed.  The 
organist  was  giving  the  third  of  Liszt's  "Consolations," 
thought  by  many  to  be  of  too  palpable  sentimentality. 
But  it  held  in  solution  for  David  a  message  of  resig- 
nation and  simplicity.  He  left  the  church,  forgetting 
Michael  O'Connor,  lying  obligingly  in  his  casket  before 
the  whole  congregation  while  over  him  surged  and 
palpitated  the  divine  music  of  a  great  composer,  now 
as  dead  and  indifferent  as  himself. 


m 


It  was  still  light  when  David  reached  home,  but  the 
vicissitudes  of  his  day  had  been  such  that  he  suffered 


134  The  Heart's  Justice 

the  impression  of  a  long  absence.  What  he  had  learned 
during  that  absence  had  changed  him  materially;  he 
had  journeyed  to  "a  far  country"  and  back  again,  and 
he  was  become  old  with  incredible  knowledge.  No 
wonder  that  his  step  lagged,  that  the  hand  which  lifted 
the  latch  of  his  own  door  was  heavy  as  his  perceptions. 
A  man  was  like  a  dog ;  from  each  buffeting  he  returned 
to  his  kennel.  But  the  night  would  come  when  his 
spirit,  unhoused  of  the  flesh,  would  yearn  bleakly  to 
this  door,  and,  finding  itself  severed  from  human  con- 
tacts, turn  away  into  the  miasmic  regions  of  doubtful 
redemption. 

He  was  in  the  hallway  now — He  moved  grayly  to 
that  recess  under  the  stairs  where,  on  a  peg,  he  habit- 
ually hung  his  hat.  From  the  sunny  sitting  room  came 
the  fragrance  of  many  spring  flowers.  On  the  window 
sill  was  a  cluster  of  small  bowls  and  these  had  been 
crushed  full  of  cozy,  kitten-faced  pansies,  pale  dog- 
tooth violets,  the  bloodroot  blossoms  and  other  wild 
flowers  of  obscure  habit.  Muffet  had  a  passion  for  them 
and  her  acquisitive  fancy  took  her  long  pilgrimages 
through  the  dimpled  valley  and  up  ledgy  heights  beyond. 

The  stillness  and  the  perfume  smote  upon  his  senses 
intolerably. 

"Muffet,"  he  called,  "Muffet,  where  are  you  ?  Come 
and  behold  your  father  loafing  on  the  factory's  time." 

Then  there  was  a  stir  from  a  corner  of  the  sitting- 
room  and  a  queer,  controlled  voice  answered, 

"Yes,  Father.     .     .     ." 

And  she  came  to  greet  him  with  a  step  as  dragging 
as  his  own.  She  had  been  weeping.  Immediately  he 
was  apprehensive,  challenging  to  the  cause  of  her  tears. 

"What  does  this  mean,  I  should  like  to  know?     Do 


The  Heart's  Justice  135 

my  eyes  deceive  me,  or  have  you  been — are  you 
crying  ?" 

He  held  out  his  arms  as  if  to  say  that  he  extended 
them  to  the  veriest  child.  But  to  his  surprise  she 
threw  herself  desperately  into  them  and  cried  as  though 
her  heart  would  break.  Then,  indeed,  was  his  alarm 
genuine. 

"Tell  me,"  he  commanded,  stern  and  trembling,  and 
her  confession  came  like  a  freshet. 

"Oh,  Father,  a  dreadful  thing  has  happened.  That 
Mr.  Sterling  has  been  annoying  me.  He  wants  me 
to  marry  him,"  and  innocently,  with  terrible  implica- 
tion, "He  kissed  me  .  .  .  against  my  will.  Have 
you  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  your  life  ?" 

Her  face  was  hot  with  the  fever  of  resentment  which 
burned  there. 

"You'll  tell  him  never  to  come  again,  won't  you, 
Father  ?  You'll  tell  him  how  I  can't  possibly  marry  him 
or  any  one,  because  I've  never  thought  of  loving  any  one 
but  you." 

Silence.  Was  this  happening  providential,  wondered 
David. 

"I  told  him  you'd  never  hear  of  such  a  thing,"  she 
choked,  a  haphazard  laugh  breaking  through  her  tears. 

Still  no  words  from  David  whose  tongue  stayed 
frozen,  whose  mind  was  hard-gripped  by  conflicting 
forces.  Suddenly  her  arms  tightened  in  a  convulsive 
frenzy,  fear  stalked  naked  in  her  eyes.  She  beat  upon 
him  with  hard,  tight  fists. 

"Father,  why  don't  you  say  something?" 


Chapter  XIV 


MKS.  EMMELINE  HAWKINS  had  come  to 
the  Harlows  to  sew.  Mrs.  Hawkins  was  wont 
to  appear  seasonally  but  this  time  she  came, 
without  precedent,  in  the  month  of  June,  and  she 
seemed  completely  demoralized  by  the  innovation.  The 
spring  quota  had  been  accomplished  several  weeks  pre- 
vious, the  simple  muslins  and  severe  ginghams  already 
hung  in  a  lavender-scented  closet  on  the  third  floor. 
But  now  Mrs.  Hawkins  was  summoned  for  further 
addenda  to  the  wardrobe.  Muffet  Harlow  was  be- 
trothed. Already  an  announcement  had  been  made  in 
the  local  paper  and  there  on  Muffet's  pale  and  trembling 
hand  was  a  band  of  platinum  set  with  a  magnificent, 
white  stone. 

"So  that's  the  ring  he  gave  ye!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Hawkins,  catching  the  ambitious  lights  of  it  almost 
before  she  was  done  puffing  up  the  stairs,  and  Muffet 
nodded  her  head  several  times,  her  serious  mouth,  her 
sad  dark  eyes  hardly  the  reflection  of  a  girl's  unalloyed 
rapture.  But  then,  Muffet  Harlow  was  "odd,"  reasoned 
Mrs.  Hawkins.  None  of  the  Harlows  thought  or  felt 
like  other  folks  and  it  might  just  be  that  Muffet  paid 
marriage  the  old-fashioned  tribute  of  entire  respect. 
However,  it  was  not  Muffet  who  had  summoned  Mrs. 
Hawkins.  Muffet  had  made  no  mention  of  a  trousseau. 

"Why  should  I,"  she  had  argued,  "be  any  different 
from  ordinary  ?" 

136 


The  Heart's  Justice  137 

But  David,  tender  and  lamely  spirited,  had  replied, 
"Young  ladies  have  trousseaus  just  as  children  in 
grammar  school  have  the  measles.  I  assure  you  when 
I  was  married — your  mother — "  but  he  never  finished 
the  sentence  and  Muffet,  anxious  to  smooth  the  ruffled 
moment,  had  said  quickly  that  she  supposed  she  might 
as  well  have  a  few  more  dresses.  She  had  acceded 
quietly  just  as  she  had  acceded  all  along  the  line.  She 
never  thought  of  really  disputing  her  father.  It  broke 
his  heart  to  know  how  perfect  was  the  power  he  wielded, 
even  to  the  greatest  ruling  of  all.  .  He  was  not  likely 
to  forget  that  day,  several  weeks  previous,  when  she 
had  flung  herself  into  his  arms  with  her  first  vital 
confession.  A  man  loved  her  and  she  did  not  love  this 
man.  Hence  his  lips  were  an  insult.  And  she  looked 
for  corroboration  to  her  father  who  had  inculcated  this 
monstrously  simple  code.  What  was  he  going  to  do 
about  it?  .  .  . 

Then  the  sickening  slow  discovery,  the  unfamiliar 
wonder.  He  was  going  to  refute  his  own  doctrine,  he 
was  going  to  do  nothing.  Instead  of  the  characteristic, 
searching  analysis  of  the  situation  she  had  expected  of 
him,  he  was  going  to  say  something  trite  and  glossy, 
something  that  sounded  hatefully  like  the  platitudes 
of  conventional,  slow-minded  people.  Even  the  way  he 
had  gathered  her  into  his  arms  in  a  great  chair  of 
happier  councils  was  unfamiliar,  because,  instead  of 
looking  her  candidly  in  the  face,  he  had  closed  his  eyes, 
withdrawn  his  vision,  and  she  was  made  to  feel  strange 
and  lonely  and  curiously  baffled,  like  one  waiting  for 
a  long  time  outside  a  door.  Then,  still  without  opening 
his  eyes,  he  began  to  speak  in  Rolf's  intercession,  words 
that  were  hirelings.  Muffet  was  wounded.  She  had 
always  known  that  her  father  respected  Rolf,  but,  as 


138  The  Heart's  Justice 

the  two  terms  are  hardly  synonymous,  she  had  not  known 
that  he  liked  him.  She  had  suspected  sometimes  that 
he  was  innocently  vain  of  the  young  man's  attentions. 
But  that  Rolf  would  be  permitted  to  be  rough  with  im- 
punity, permitted,  in  short,  to  make  unwelcome  love  to 
her — had  never  entered  her  head. 

Yet  she  listened  and  she  heard  her  father  say,  always 
in  a  conventional,  conciliating  voice,  such  things  as 
these, — that  her  knowledge  of  men  and  life  was  a  very 
limited  knowledge,  that  her  ability  to  judge  was,  after 
all,  nearly  nil.  This  after  years  of  making  her  believe 
that  the  only  true  perceptions  are  the  God-given  ones. 

"But  he  kissed  me,"  said  Muffet  again,  this  time 
rather  shrilly,  "he  kept  on  kissing  me  after  he  knew — 
after "  " 

"No  general  rule  can  apply  to  a  man  in  love,"  said 
David  and  went  on  to  enlighten  her  that  a  man  in  love 
might  have  kissed  her  against  her  will  and  intended  no 
insult.  It  would  have  been  better  if  Rolf  had  waited, 
but  he  felt,  no  doubt,  that,  having  served  an  eight 
months'  apprenticeship  of  silence,  he  might  be  allowed 
an  impetuous  declaration.  Rolf  was  not  a  man  made 
for  indefinite  postponements;  he  demanded  dividends, 
dividends.  "Dividends?"  interrupted  Muffet  in  a 
twisty  tone  of  ridicule.  The  word  had  a  commercial 
flavor,  yet  she  perceived  with  irony  that  her  father  had 
used  it  unconsciously;  one  thought  of  Rolf  Sterling  in 
terms  of  such  phrases.  Rolf  was  virile,  amended  David 
hastily,  his  love  hurt  him.  Muffet  must  be  gentle  to  that 
love.  "But  why  does  he  love  me?"  she  persisted  with 
the  obstinacy  of  a  querulous  and  rather  tiresome  child. 
"Love  you — well,  God  knows  why  these  things  happen 
to  the  people  that  they  do.  It  would  not  be  strange 
if  he  had  seen  that  you  are  of  all  women  the  most 


The  Heart's  Justice  139 

delicious  and  adorable."  It  was  tenderly  spoken,  but 
she  was  in  no  mood  for  tbe  merely  saccharine.  "No," 
she  protested,  and  almost  in  despair,  "I  mean,  why  does 
he  love  me  when  we've  no — no  point  of  contact  ?" 

"But  you  might  have,"  argued  David,  thinking  of 
death  and  compelling  his  words  with  a  sick  determina- 
tion. "It's  because  you've  never  tried,  my  darling,  it's 
altogether  in  your  point  of  view.  Has  it  occurred  to 
you  ever  that  we've  peopled  our  world  with  but  two 
human  beings,  yourself  and  myself?  An  insolent  per- 
formance, and  I'm  sure  an  unparalleled  one.  Now  then, 
I  can't  expect  that  every  woman  in  the  world  will  be 
the  counterpart  of  my  daughter,  can  I  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"And  neither  is  it  reasonable  for  you  to  suppose  that 
all  men  contain  the  same  formula  for  thinking  as  the 
one  owned  by  your  particular  parent." 

She  agreed  that  it  wasn't.  But  whenever  he  opened 
his  eyes  he  saw  the  acute,  listening  look  of  her  eyes, 
the  strained  expression  of  her  unusually  white  face 
and  his  argument  broke  down.  Then  all  he  could  do 
was  to  stroke  her  hands  and  to  resist  the  wild  impulse 
to  bend  his  head  and  to  cry  into  them.  But  by  dint  of 
marshaling  all  his  forces,  and  the  lowering  shadow  of 
twilight  that  seemed  mercifully  to  veil  his  travail  of 
spirit,  he  managed  to  paint  a  picture  of  Rolf  pleasant 
to  the  last  degree.  He  was  an  inspiring  figure  with 
his  trained  business  brain  and  his  splendid  clean  body 
— one  would  feel  safe  in  trusting  such  a  man  with 
what  he  held  precious;  one  would  feel  sure  he  would 
carry  his  obligations  nobly  to  the  last.  He  was  midway 
in  this  laudatory  speech  when  Muffet,  with  her  senses 
groping  this  way  and  that,  touched  the  truth, 
recoiled  from  it  and  touched  it  again,  intrepid  to  under- 


140  The  Heart's  Justice 

stand  its  contours.  Her  father  wanted  her  to  marry 
Rolf  Sterling.  Why?  She  could  have  sworn  that  the 
idea  was  not  one  he  had  seriously  entertained  here- 
tofore. Did  it  have  to  do  with  the  invention?  A 
thousand  times  "no."  David  was  never  the  man  to 
count  material  advantages,  his  whole  life  bore  witness 
to  that.  Unless  it  was  that  his  inventor's  conscience 
demanded  he  should  discharge  the  sacred  obligation 
of  that  chef  d'oeuvre,  unless  the  inexorable  law  of 
science  caused  him  to  put  it  above  even  her,  his  daugh- 
ter, Muffet.  But  after  staring  at  the  blue-veined  eye- 
lids, so  tender  and  so  tired  that  they  seemed  an  expres- 
sion of  all  he  had  ever  been  to  her,  she  thrust  the  thought 
away.  What  was  it  stood  between  them,  what  lay  hidden 
behind  the  secretive  eyelids  ?  She  wanted  to  shake  him 
by  the  shoulders  and  cry  out, 

"Oh  father,  wake  up.  Open  your  eyes  and  stay  with 
me.  Don't  go  back  there." 

But  the  psychic  feeling  that,  whatever  effort  he  made 
at  dissembling  was  being  made  for  her  sake  imposed 
certain  obligations  on  her  own  behavior,  her  bravery. 
So  she  made  only  a  child's  fumbling  at  his  coat  lapel, 
she  distilled  pitiful  cheer  in  a  voice  that  said, 

"You  sly  old  father,  are  you  trying  to  tell  me  that 
you  would  like  to  see  me  his  wife  ?" 

Suddenly  David  had  eyes  again.  He  took  her  cin- 
namon-sweet head  between  his  hands  and  kissed  the 
top  of  it.  He  found  a  smile  for  her  undoing. 

"I'm  only  saying,  Little  Miss  Muffet,  that  if  you 
could  find  it  in  your  heart  to  care  for  him  it  would 
make  me  very  happy.  I'm  an  old  man  now.  Not  so 
old  in  years,  perhaps,  but — well — tuckered  in  spirit. 
We  need  new  vitality  in  our  house,  my  child,  a  different 
sort  of  vigor  from  the  kind  that  either  of  us  possesses. 


The  Heart's  Justice  141 

Young  people  who  love  and  marry  skim  the  cream  of 
life.  It's  the  natural,  sweet  order  of  existence  and  in 
no  way  an  abnormal  or  strained  experience.  I  ought 
to  have  told  you  before — I  ought " 

She  studied  his  face  for  motives,  studied  it  unhappily 
for  treason,  fought  against  the  thought  that  he  was 
betraying  her.  Ah,  that  was  the  moment  when  he 
must  be  ruthless,  when  he  must  out-Judas  Judas.  He 
seemed  to  have  drifted  very  far  away  when  he  heard 
Muffet  whisper, 

"It  shall  be  as  you  wish.  I  will  tell  him  I  have 
changed  my  mind."  Then  she  had  kissed  her  father 
again  to  show  him  that  she  made  the  sacrifice  cheerfully 
and  without  malice,  that  she  had  not  and  never  could 
suspect  him  of  guile.  It  was  this  last  kiss  that  came 
near  to  unmanning  him,  that  made  him  rise  abruptly, 
casting  her  aside,  and  lurch  upstairs  to  his  room.  Clos- 
ing and  locking  the  door,  he  took  his  own  trouble  to 
himself  like  the  best  of  the  Harlows,  and  when  he  came 
down  he  had  himself  well  in  hand.  Likewise  Muffet. 
She  wore  a  white  dress  for  supper  and  the  harmonious 
manner  of  a  Harlow.  She  poured  her  father's  tea  and 
served  his  salad  with  the  patient  goodness  of  a  little 
girl. 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  exquisite,  chill 
scent  of  lilacs.  Birds  were  making  late  abbreviated 
sounds  of  settling  down  for  the  night.  Before  them  on 
the  old  mahogany  table  Vannie  had  spread  a  tempting 
repast.  But  neither  could  eat.  David's  smile  was  too 
sick  for  banter.  And  not  a  word  of  Muffet's  conversa- 
tion rang  true.  After  dinner  he  saw  her  go  to  the 
beautiful,  battered  desk  in  the  sitting-room,  draw  some 
stationery  to  her  and  start  a  letter.  Her  head  made  a 
little  pool  of  dusky  wine  in  the  still,  light  room.  He 


142  The  Heart's  Justice 

sensed  her  intention  and  her  instant  submission  seemed 
more  than  he  could  bear.  Now  his  resolve  was  twitch- 
ing. Once  he  rose  from  his  chair  but  sat  down  again. 
He  yearned  to  draw  her  away  from  that  sterile  missive, 
to  laugh  a  great,  reassuring  comrade's  laugh  into  her 
betrayed  eyes,  her  pitiful,  obedient  child's  face,  and 
to  cry, 

"No,  my  darling,  no.  I  shall  never  call  upon  you  to 
marry  without  love.  Come,  tear  up  the  letter,  and 
let  us  go  on  as  we  were  and  hang  the  consequences." 

But  immediately  rose  before  him  the  picture  of  Muffet 
alone  and  desolated,  a  waif  to  suffer  the  charity  of  her 
obnoxious  relations,  or  worse,  to  buffet  her  way  in  an 
unscrupulous  world,  where  her  innocence  would  be  fair 
game  for  the  predatory.  Alf  had  warned  him.  So  the 
impulse  was  slain  and  Muffet  wrote  her  letter.  In  it 
she  said  starkly, 

DEAR  ME.  STEELING: — 

I  have  been  thinking  over  what  you  said  to-day  and 
I  have  changed  my  mind.  If  you  like,  I  will  marry 
you. 

MUFFET  HAELOW. 

P.  S.    I  could  not  live'  apart  from  my  father. 


n 

Rolf,  reading  that  poignant  letter  in  his  office  next 
morning,  failed  to  give  it  the  interpretation  that  another 
might  have  done  as  a  letter  written  under  pressure. 
All  the  drums  and  cymbals  of  his  passion  grew  strident 
within  him.  It  was  remarked  from  that  day  how  the 
usually  taciturn  man  became  prolific  of  words  and 


The  Heart's  Justice  143 

laughter;  gesture  too  helped  relieve  the  joyful  con- 
gestion of  his  soul.  Meeting  Muffet  he  was  neither 
surprised  nor  disquieted  to  find  her  guarded  in  reserve. 
She  had  said  that  she  would  marry  him  and  that  dec- 
laration sufficed  for  a  little.  He  refused  deliberately 
to  question  the  state  of  her  feelings.  He  glossed 
over  her  lack  of  affection  by  the  broad  statement 
that  she  knew  nothing  of  life.  Nevertheless  his 
instinct  was  wary  in  one  respect, — he  never  tried 
to  force  his  caresses  upon  her  as  he  had  done  that 
day  in  the  field ;  he  exercised  a  certain  hard  control  of 
himself.  He  kept  upon  her  the  vigilant  eye  of  one 
who  watches  a  seedling  mature  in  a  cold  frame. 

But  Muffet,  in  her  acute  sensitiveness,  resented  even 
the  deferred  intention  of  his  eyes,  sensed  the  clamor 
in  his  control,  the  tempest  in  his  patience.  She  became 
too  apprehensive  for  tolerance.  She  found  no  pathos 
in  the  thought  that  the  betrothal  which  to  her  was  a 
travesty  was  invested  by  Sterling  with  splendid  sig- 
nificance, that  the  ring,  the  bracelet,  the  ostentation 
of  announcement,  all  were  symbols  of  a  golden,  author- 
ized passion  for  which  an  orchestration  sounded  in 
heaven. 

He  had  journeyed  to  New  York  to  a  Fifth  Avenue 
jeweler  for  the  ring  and  he  had  been  fussy  and  finicking 
as  besuited  a  prospective  bridegroom  handsomely  deter- 
mined to  do  the  handsome  thing. 

Looking  at  his  purchase  on  the  train  going  back  he 
reflected  naively  that  people  would  see  the  superb  dia- 
mond and  think,  "How  he  must  love  her,"  then,  noting 
the  workmanship  of  the  setting  would  add  with  awe, 
"This  is  the  refinement  of  regard !" 

The  ring  went  onto  Muffet's  finger  where  all  day 
she  wore  it  like  an  obligation,  watching  the  sun  strike 


144  The  Heart's  Justice 

prismatic  colors  from  its  savage  heart  of  crystal.  But 
at  night  she  took  it  carefully  from  her  finger,  that  was 
tired  of  the  responsibility,  and  laid  it  on  her  dressing 
table. 

A  reciprocal  relationship  should  certainly  have  been 
established  between  Rolf  and  herself,  intimacy  taking 
its  cue  from  the  moment  that  she  wrote  her  honest 
statement  of  acceptance.  But  this  had  not  happened 
and  now  she  played  at  a  fabulous  game  with  a  stranger. 
This  stranger  called  twice  a  day,  once  in  the  afternoon 
when  he  had  finished  his  day  at  the  office  and  a  second 
time  in  the  evening.  And  Muffet  met  him  with  her 
incredible,  dazed  politeness,  politely  planning  with  a 
stranger  an  improbable  thing  called  "a  wedding  trip." 
Rolf  had  reminded  her  archly  that  such  a  custom  was 
honorable  with  usage,  just  as  her  father  had  reminded 
her  of  the  personal  trifles  she  would  be  expected  to 
have.  Rolf  had  brought  maps.  .  .  .  He  had  said 
that  a  motor  trip  into  the  mountains  would  please  him 
best.  .  .  . 

"But  it  is  for  you  to  say,"  he  deferred  tenderly,  and 
Muffet  answered  with  mechanical  mouth,  with  some 
perspective  on  the  grim  irony  of  the  situation, 

"No,  it  really  does  not  matter  in  the  least." 

Then  a  great  rattling  of  the  starchy  map.  A  very 
good  map,  Rolf  remarked  with  satisfaction  and  called 
her  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  mounted  on  canvas. 
Muffet  murmured  approval.  Dimly  she  heard  him.  It 
seemed  hours  that  his  voice  made  an  excursion  of  talk 
as  intricate  as  the  one  it  described.  "If  we  go  by  the 
Montreal  route,"  he  would  dally  deliciously,  "or  if  we 
choose  an  even  better  way.  .  .  ." 

It  was  not  until  a  week  before  their  marriage  that 
her  silence  communicated  itself. 


The  Heart's  Justice  145 

"Muffet,  I  sometimes  think,  I  sometimes  think  you 
don't  want  to  take  a  trip  at  all!" 

That  his  tremendous  obtuseness  should  at  last  give 
way  seemed  to  her  nothing  short  of  a  miracle.  Her 
smile  was  a  sunbeam,  a  moonbeam.  She  put  her  hand 
gratefully  on  his  arm. 

"Kolf,  of  course  I  don't." 

"Don't  ?"  He  tried  to  get  his  mind  around  the  idea. 
"Don't  want  a  trip  ?  That's  queer.  That's — well,  not 
like  a  girl  at  all." 

She  felt  genuinely  sorry  for  him  then ;  it  was  in  her 
to  be  almost  fond  of  him  when  disappointed.  The 
trouble  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  so  seldom  was. 

"You  see,"  she  began,  very  anxious  to  allay  his  dis- 
appointment by  a  gentle  explanation,  "I've  always 
thought  that  anything  in  the  nature  of  advertisement 
is  both  vulgar  and  stupid,  and  that  'honeymoons'  come 
under  that  head.  For  every  one  to  know  we  are  just 
married  and  starting  on  one  is  like  exhibiting  our 
private  affairs,  becoming  a  target.  I  should  much 
prefer  to  stay  quietly  here  with  you  and  Father." 

"Hm,  your  father  and  I.  Well,  that  is  original,  I 
must  say." 

She  blushed  painfully. 

"It's  just  as  we'll  be  later  on,  Rolf " 

"All  right,  never  mind  that — "  His  voice  grated  in 
exasperation.  "Don't  misunderstand  me,  dear.  I'm 
willing  to  have  it  the  way  it  will  make  you  happy.  It's 
been  quite  a  concession,  this  plan  for  living  on  in  the 
old  house.  You  know  that  I'd  prefer  to  be  in  town 
and  build,  but  your  wishes  come  first.  Still,  it  does 
seem  that  just  at  first " 

But  the  problem  was  solved  by  David's  decision. 
When  he  heard  that  Muffet  was  averse  to  going  away 


146  The  Heart's  Justice 

he  said  that  he  and  Elijah  would  take  their  two  weeks' 
vacation  together  a  little  earlier  than  usual  and  jaunt 
up  to  Elijah's  farm  in  the  western  part  of  the  state. 

So  the  brief  month  passed  and  Muffet  knew  that  the 
diminishing  time  made  her  father  sad.  And  now  her 
pity  was  for  him. 

"We'll  always  be  together,  you  know,"  she  told  him, 
"and  it  isn't  as  though  I  were  going  away." 

But  all  at  once  she  climbed  into  his  lap  and  kissed 
him  interrogatively. 

"Nothing  can  change  us,  promise  me  that,  neither 
marriage  nor " 

"Death?"  suggested  David  awfully,  yet  it  was  not 
David  who  spoke  but  a  voice  sounding  through  him. 
He  was  back  in  the  fear-sweat  of  the  unknown,  the 
twilight  between  two  states  of  consciousness.  But 
Muffet  had  not  understood  or  appraised  the  word  as 
having  more  than  its  sentimental  meaning. 

"Death  least  of  all,"  she  said  securely,  and  relaxing 
in  a  tired  way  let  her  cheek  rest  contentfully  against 
his. 


in 


Mrs.  Hawkins  was  a  person  physically  contrived  for 
the  profession  of  seamstress.  Though  rather  short  from 
the  waist  to  the  neck  she  was  rather  long  from  the 
hips  to  the  knees  and  could  hold  a  lap-board  without 
the  danger  of  it  slipping.  Her  teeth  were  prominent 
and  incisive  for  the  biting  of  threads.  She  habitually 
held  her  mouth  as  though  it  were  full  of  pins.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  and  protruding;  in  the  zeal  of  dress- 
making they  had  emerged  a  little  way  from  her  head 
and  remained  permanently  perspicacious.  She  had  the 


The  Heart's  Justice  147 

bosom  and  the  great  hips  of  a  Juno  and  gave  the  effect 
of  being  sewed  into  her  clothes  as  tightly  as  was  the 
sawdust  in  the  cushion  which  she  wore  below  her  chest, 
a  dingy  half  moon,  bristling  with  pins.  At  her  waist 
hung  a  pair  of  scissors  on  red  tape,  scissors  that  went 
"snip-snap"  smartly,  showing  that  she  kept  them  ground. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  was  perhaps  the  one  person  in  all 
Wedgewater  granted  access  to  the  presence  of  Muffet 
Harlow  and  privileged  to  discuss  the  engagement  on 
terms  of  intimacy.  She  felt  it  an  obligation,  almost  a 
sacred  duty,  to  take  away  with  her  whatever  information 
she  could  for  the  nourishment  of  starving  public  curios- 
ity. For  the  betrothal,  as  she  intimated  to  Muffet,  was 
"town  talk." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Muffet  dryly,  "not  really?" 

"If  you  could  hear  them,"  the  woman  assured  her, 
rocking  with  her  lap-board,  and  added  that  every  one 
knew  about  Rolf  Sterling,  of  course,  but  no  one  seemed 
to  know  much  about  "Miss  Harlow."  "Time  was," 
she  explained,  not  wishing  to  be  indelicate,  "when  the 
Harlows  were  considered  pillars  of  society,  but  they 
kind  of  died  off  and  edged  away  and  now  I  figure  the 
newcomers  all  think  Mr.  Sterling's  marryin'  into  some 
unknown  tribe.  You  got  to  admit  Wedgewater  Road 
ain't  fashionable  any  more." 

Muffet  admitted  that  it  wasn't. 

"Then,  too,  being  he  was  the  best  catch  in  town  there 
was  bound  to  be  feelin',"  mused  Mrs.  Hawkins  with 
windy  relish.  "They  do  say  the  Warren  girl's  gone  to 
Atlantic  City.  .  .  ." 

"Do  they  say  so  ?"  Muffet  wondered  if  she  was  sup- 
posed to  scent  a  shattered  romance. 

She  sat  these  days  in  daffodil  sunshine,  scantily  clad 
for  the  tryings-on.  The  work-room,  heaped  with  the 


148  The  Heart's  Justice 

pale  colors  of  materials,  was  not  unlike  the  riotous 
spring  garden  outside,  and  Muffet  in  her  complete 
immobility  a  sculptor's  dream  of  its  adornment.  The 
sun  glowed  in  the  marble  of  her  shoulders;  her  arms 
were  unexpectedly  round  and  polished  cleanly  down  to 
the  facile  wrists  and  hands.  Rid  of  her  obscuring 
clothes,  she  emerged  with  the  shining  physical  perfec- 
tion that  we  are  taught  to  think  of  as  Greek. 

"Wedgewater,"  effused  Mrs.  Hawkins,  her  New  Eng- 
land voice  with  its  nasal  edges  breaking  out  on  the 
stillness — "Wedgewater' s  goin'  to  git  its  eyes  open  when 
your  husband  begins  takin'  you  out  and  showin'  you 
round !"  Letting  her  hands  fall  idle,  she  permitted  her 
look  to  dwell  upon  the  symmetry  of  the  girl's  bare 
shoulders,  stooped  beneath  the  torrent  of  light.  It  was 
as  though  she  saw  her  suddenly  with  new  significance 
and  was  not  unmoved  by  her  discovery. 

"My  soul,  you're  a  pretty  thing,  Muffet  Harlow," 
she  sighed.  "Dunno's  I  ever  realized  before  quite  how 
sweet-pretty  you've  grown  to  be.  They  say  it  takes  a 
man  to  see  beauty  in  a  woman  and  if  that  be  so  I  figure 
your  Mr.  Sterling's  going  right  down  on  his  knees — 

"Oh,"  protested  Muffet,  stirring  self-consciously,  "I 
think  I'll  dress  now." 

But  still  Mrs.  Hawkins  did  not  pick  up  her  work. 
She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  the  lap-board  slanting 
idly  on  her  great  Junoesque  knees,  an  expression  at 
once  gentle  and  clairvoyant  on  her  homely  face. 

"Marriage  is  a  strange  institution,"  she  delivered 
herself  of  the  cryptic  remark.  "It's  like  dying — the 
dead  can  never  return  to  tell  the  living  what  it's  like. 
So  the  married  can  never  tell  the  unmarried.  .  .  . 
You've  got  to  try  it  and  make  all  your  own  mistakes. 
I  knew  a  fisherman  once  who  sailed  the  Sound  and  he 


The  Heart's  Justice  149 

told  me  he'd  learned  where  all  the  rocks  was  by  runnin' 
on  'em.  That's  like  marriage.  .  .  ." 

Muffet  had  turned  her  face  in  awe  upon  the  speaker ; 
she  listened  with  fearful  fascination. 

"Marriage,"  spoke  Mrs.  Hawkins  in  a  dull,  fateful 
voice,  "is  the  large  slice  o'  life.  If  you  don't  marry 
I  don't  care  what  you've  had  it's  been  the  lesser  portion. 
But  I'll  tell  you  a  mistake  folks  make.  They  think 
they're  immediately  goin'  to  fit  together  like  the  pieces 
in  a  puzzle  picture.  'Tain't  true.  After  marriage  the 
jig-saw  has  to  be  used  considerable  before  the  pattern 
comes  right." 

The  old  wives'  look  was  on  her  face  and  for  the  first 
time  Muffet  sensed  solemnly  what  it  would  mean  to 
be  admitted  to  the  free  masonry  of  married  women,  the 
great,  heroic,  infinitely  wise,  wisely-indulgent  army, 
the  priestesses  of  birth  and  pain,  the  handmaidens  of 
tedium  and  domesticity.  Muffet  saw  her  now  not  as 
the  colorless  sewing  woman  but  as  an  omniscient  being 
strong  in  her  martyrdom,  as  one  who  knew  all  about 

"The  laws  that  are  the  wonder  of  the  wise, 
And  why  they  smile  so  strangely  who  are  dead." 

Driven  by  the  urgency  of  her  doubts,  she  rose  and 
went  over  to  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"Mrs.  Hawkins,"  she  asked  touchingly,  "can  two 
people  be  happy  if  in  the  beginning  only  one  of  them 
loves?  Granted,  of  course,"  she  added  shamefacedly, 
"that  the  other  is  willing  and  anxious  to  be  kind  ?" 

Mrs.  Hawkins  seemed  to  emerge  from  her  trance 
with  a  swift  transition  to  the  realm  of  common  sense. 

"Duty,"  she  snapped,  "makes  a  mighty  cold  diet. 
But  even  so  you  might  get  along  if  it  wasn't  for  the 


150  The  Heart's  Justice 

matter  of  children.     A  woman  only  willingly  bears 
children  for  the  man  she  loves." 

Muffet's  thought  seemed  to  widen.  In  the  warm 
recesses  of  her  eyes  woke  a  shy  bewilderment.  Children. 
Would  Eolf  want  her  to  have  children  ?  "In  every  way 
Rolf  is  the  normal  man,"  her  father  had  once  said.  And 
normal  men  become  fathers.  Then  children,  too,  chil- 
dren of  healthy  assertiveness  and  agility.  Her  imag- 
ination worked,  appalled.  Oh,  Muffet  loved  children. 
But  would  she  love  Rolf's  children  ?  She  did  not  know. 


IV 


It  was  late  afternoon  and  Mrs.  Hawkins  had  gone 
home.  Muffet,  having  dressed  for  supper,  had  returned 
to  the  sewing  room  to  fold  up  the  work  and  set  all  in 
readiness  for  the  morning.  There,  the  association  of 
ideas  drawing  her  back  to  the  seat  by  the  window,  she 
had  subsided  in  it  once  more,  the  sheer  ruffles  of  her 
wash  dress  catching  the  late  sun  in  frail  gildings.  Out- 
side the  process  of  evening-fall  was  beginning — a  time 
of  day  she  loved  best.  But  to-night  she  was  aware  of 
it  only  with  a  detached  consciousness.  She  was  not 
thinking,  as  usual,  of  her  father,  nor  even  of  Rolf,  but 
of  herself.  She  was  thinking  that  she  must  get  to  know 
herself  better  when  the  door  opened  and  Rolf  walked 
in.  They  were  to  be  married  in  a  week's  time  and  she 
knew  that  he  was  thinking  of  that  even  before  he  greeted 
her.  It  was  never  far  from  his  mind.  But  to-night, 
struck  by  the  picture  she  made,  he  spoke  quietly, 

"Watching  the  sunset?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  and  would  have  risen,  but  he  lifted 
his  hand. 


The  Heart's  Justice  151 

"Don't  move.  I'll  watch  it  too,"  and  he  came  over 
and  stood  beside  her,  putting  one  hand  experimentally 
on  her  hair. 

Fresh  garden  scents  rose  pungently  when  the  breeze 
condescended  and  they  seemed  to  be  in  a  bower  of 
leaves,  a  myriad  of  them,  whispering.  His  hand  still 
on  her  hair  he  bent  to  detect  the  velvet  roving  of  her 
eyes,  her  brooding  girl's  eyes  that  were  seeking  an 
answer  to  all  the  esoteric  puzzle  of  life.  A  powerful 
emotion  was  evoked  in  him.  He  wanted  to  know  what 
she  was  pondering  and  without  alarming  that  still 
process  of  thought  to  identify  himself  with  it.  At  last 
her  silence  seemed  more  than  he  could  bear. 

"Muffet,"  he  breathed  oddly,  "do  you  know  that  some- 
times you  seem  not  real  at  all.  You're  like  a  creature 
from  another  world,  closer  to  angels  than  you  are  to 
us.  How  can  I  hope  to  understand  you  ?" 

She  did  not  answer  and  suddenly,  kneeling,  he  put 
both  arms  about  her  with  a  gesture  at  once  fearful  and 
abandoned. 

"You're  like  a  young  boy,"  he  marveled,  struggling 
to  express  in  words  the  virginity  of  her  spirit,  "you're 
like  a  beautiful  boy." 

Then  with  his  arms  tightening  about  her  he  lifted 
a  face  that  was  ravaged. 

"Let  yourself  love  me,"  he  begged  passionately,  "let 
yourself  love  me.  .  .  ." 


Chapter  XV 


MUFFET  STERLING'S  first  impression  of  mar- 
riage was  almost  a  nonsensical  one, — it  seemed 
to  her  that  marriage  meant  noise,  thunderous 
beginnings,  a  whirling  tumult  of  the  air  as  exciting  as 
Wagner's  music  of  the  "Walkiire,"  which  she  had  once 
heard  with  her  father.  David  and  Elijah,  according 
to  plan,  had  gone  to  the  upstate  farm,  leaving  the  young 
people  in  possession  of  the  house  on  Wedgewater  Road. 
Rolf,  too,  was  having  his  vacation  and  was  free  to 
enjoy  his  Arcadia  and  the  piquant  charm  of  his  young 
wife.  Because  the  old  house,  an  outlaw  in  isolation, 
was  safe  from  intrusion,  because  the  hot  July  days 
were  luxuriantly  still,  the  very  air  swooning  of  field 
flowers,  because  of  the  picture-book  panorama  seen  from 
any  window,  the  tangible  presence  of  sleepy-hearted 
summer,  Rolf  believed  in  his  halcyon  holiday.  Out- 
of-doors  he  could  feel  the  genial  sun  to  the  core  of 
his  being;  within  he  was  cooled  by  the  restfulness  of 
leaf-shaded  walls  and  bare  floors.  In  truth  the  Dutch- 
man pipe  vine,  tenacious  where  it  could  cling,  swung 
untidily  over  half  the  windows  on  the  ground  floor; 
trumpet  vine  and  Virginia  creeper  adhered  lovingly  to 
the  dark  silver  of  the  clapboards. 

Only  Vannie,  indigenous  to  the  kitchen,  was  cooking 
for  them  as  sentimentally  as  though  they  had  been 

152 


The  Heart's  Justice  153 

invalids.  Save  for  the  miracle  sorrowfully  missing  in 
all  but  the  catch-moments  of  life,  Rolf  was  happy. 
What  he  lacked  was  the  perfect  response  that  is  an  open- 
sesame  to  the  realm  beyond  reason  where  true  lovers 
dwell.  But  always  he  was  patient  and  of  brave  cheer. 
At  any  rate  he  knew  the  intoxication  of  great  hope, 
not  to  mention  the  joy  of  monopoly,  poignantly  sweet 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  had  never  before  had  Muffet 
to  himself.  Always  there  had  been  her  father  and  their 
absorption  in  one  another.  Not  that  Rolf  was  jealous. 
He  told  himself  insistently  that  the  relationship  was 
very  beautiful.  At  the  same  time  it  seemed  little 
enough  that  Harlow  should  leave  them  a  brief  two 
weeks  together.  Rolf  thought  of  it  each  morning  when 
he  wakened  and  saw  her  loved  head  on  the  pillow  beside 
him  in  the  colossal  bed  which  had  been  Jasmine 
Harlow's. 

What  Muffet  felt  throughout  the  entire  two  weeks 
was  probably  exactly  the  opposite  of  what  Rolf  felt. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  her  father  was  very  long  away. 
She  thought  of  the  house  as  hollow  and  full  of  rever- 
berations. She  had  never  before  had  experience  of  a 
housemate  so  virile.  Rolf  towered,  both  literally  and 
figuratively  speaking;  he  had  often  to  mind  about  the 
lintel  in  passing  through  a  door.  He  whistled  like  a 
blackbird  when  he  shaved.  It  amused  him  to  vault 
up  the  frail  stairs  two  at  a  time  and  laugh  when  the 
ceiling  shivered.  He  was  so  elate,  so  plotty  and  planny, 
he  lived  so  hard  even  when  he  fancied  that  he  was 
resting.  And  upstairs  in  the  great  front  chamber 
where  they  had  elected  to  sleep  his  cheerful  belongings 
were  everywhere.  Muffet  seemed  to  have  been  precip- 
itated suddenly  into  a  life  where  feminine  occupation 
was  lost  in  the  large  order  of  masculinity.  Her  girlish- 


154  The  Heart's  Justice 

ness  was  engulfed  .  .  .  before  it  could  catch  its 
breath.  .  .  .  All  the  words  of  her  mouth  were 
stopped  by  kisses,  all  her  doubts  still-born.  .  .  . 

She  returned  to  her  childhood's  room  to  sit  among 
the  familiar  trifles  and  to  reason  out  the  transition, 
and  he  came  and  found  her  and  killed  all  her  fluttering 
phrases  with  the  vehemence  of  his  love-making.  Muffet 
wanted  to  talk  about  love  and  to  clarify  it.  Rolf  saw  no 
use  in  such  analysis ;  he  didn't  want  to  talk  about  love — 
he  wanted  to  enjoy  it.  Or  if  he  did  want  to  talk  about  it, 
if  he  longed  to  sing  the  saga  of  her  beauty  he  was  incom- 
petent. With  the  whole  rich  soil  of  the  English  language 
in  which  to  grow  something  beautiful  he  could  only 
make  mud  pies.  Frightened  by  the  maturity  of  his 
passion  for  her,  which  seemed  to  have  sprung  into  life 
full-panoplied,  Muffet  strove  to  match  it  with  her  own. 
She  wanted  to  love  Rolf  in  some  beautiful  and  adequate 
fashion  but  she  needed  to  know  all  of  the  delicate  steps 
by  which  such  a  love  had  been  built  up.  It  seemed  to 
her  now  that  the  forces  of  life  had  come  upon  her  sud- 
denly, had  taken  her  unaware,  the  music  of  the 
"Walkiire,"  irresistibly  conquering  and  wild  with  the 
din  of  disaster — it  seemed  to  her  that,  like  Brunnhilde, 
she  was  doomed  to  be  put  to  sleep  in  a  circle  of  fire. 
She  knew  the  impossibility  of  ever  making  Rolf  under- 
stand her  need  to  be  won  progressively.  Already  she 
had  wakened  to  find  her  pillow  wet  with  the  tears  she 
had  shed  in  her  sleep  and  had  asked  her  heart, 

"Red  rebel,  is  it  you 
That  lifted  this  wild  dew?" 

Incredible  that  yesterday  she  and  Rolf  were  the 
most  constrained  of  friends  and  now  she  knew  the 
pressure  of  his  cheek  against  hers,  she  knew  the  mod- 


The  Heart's  Justice  155 

eling  of  her  own  face,  kissed  on  all  its  contours.  She 
knew  the  breadth  and  firmness  of  his  knit  shoulder 
where  he  took  her  head  to  rest,  her  head  that  was  all 
a  ferment  of  thoughts.  There  was  a  desperate  actuality 
in  existence  as  though  what  had  hitherto  been  com- 
pounded of  air  and  water  were  a  new  draught  of  blood 
and  fire.  The  house  that  had  dozed  in  the  sun  would 
never  sleep  again.  It  was  infused  with  a  fierce  energy 
of  direction  even  this  early  in  the  new  regime. 

Rolf  had  dominion  over  it,  just  as  he  had  dominion 
over  Muffet.  It  need  not  expect  him  to  condone  its 
defective  water-pipes  and  rotting  roof;  nothing  escaped 
his  investigating  eye.  In  his  idleness  he  was  ingenious 
to  do  little  things  with  a  hammer  and  yard  stick,  to 
sound  the  ceilings,  to  calculate  the  cant  of  the  floor. 
And  while  he  was  thus  engaged  the  tension  relaxed  for 
Muffet.  She  saw  him  normally  occupied  and  herself 
drifted  back  to  the  illusion  of  lost  times  when  she  had 
been  her  father's  housekeeper  with  no  more  vital  de- 
mand upon  her  than  the  ordering  of  his  meals.  Like- 
wise when  they  recreated,  though  Rolf  brought  to  their 
outings  a  point  of  view  of  purpose  in  direct  contrast 
to  Muffet's  lawless  love  of  the  holiday  for  itself.  Rolf 
contended  that  it  was  useless  to  invade  the  country  and 
bring  back  nothing,  an  irrefutable  argument  when  seen 
in  that  light. 

"Oh,"  said  Muffet,  "but  Father  and  I—"  and  broke 
off  with  the  phrase  whose  constant  repetition  during 
the  days  of  David's  absence  had  begun  to  pall. 

Rolf  winced. 

"Say  'you  and  I,'  Sweetheart,  just  this  once  1" 

Muffet  smiled  apologetically. 

"Forgive  me,  Rolf.  I've  been  saying  the  other  all 
my  life." 


156  The  Heart's  Justice 

Rolf  had  a  true  penchant  for  fishing  and  foraging 
and  now  he  remembered  with  delight  the  peculiar  savor 
of  the  sport  known  as  "frogging."  It  was  years  since 
he  had  caught  frogs,  since  he  had  indulged  himself 
in  the  leisure  for  such  pastimes.  He  lifted  Muifet  off 
her  feet  and  kissed  her  before  he  set  her  once  more  on 
the  ground. 

"We  will  go  frogging,"  he  announced  inspiredly. 

"Frogging?"  she  queried,  ruffling  her  brow  but  half 
converted  to  the  picture  of  boating  among  lily-pads,  and 
she  inquired  innocently  into  the  technique  of  the  pro1 
cedure. 

Rolf  replied  that  it  was  done  with  a  bit  of  red  flannel 
on  a  hook  and  Muffet  murmured  demurely  that  Vannie 
might  be  persuaded  to  cut  up  ^ier  petticoat,  a  typical 
Harlow  remark  of  the  kind  thjat  Rolf  had  learned  to 
expect.  Recognizing  it  as  whimsy  he  continued  with 
his  dissertation  on  frogs.  They  constituted  a  dish  for 
an  epicure.  They  had  to  be  saited  as  soon  as  they  were 
skinned  and  it  was  uncanny  t^e  way  the  muscles  would 
contract  and  twitch  under  the  action  of  the  salt.  But 
fried  in  cracker  crumbs — Muifet's  face  was  in  eclipse; 
somehow  she  was  less  intrigued  by  the  idea  of  the  lily- 
pads.  But  she  went  rather  than  disappoint  him  and 
floated  about  all  day  in  a  leaky  boat  on  a  sultry  mud- 
pond,  her  gingham  frock  making  on  the  water  a  bright 
reflection  as  of  a  submerged  pink  lily.  Beneath  a 
tattered  straw  hat  the  olive  tones  of  her  face  were 
golden,  her  hair  curled  damply  about  her  forehead  and 
formed  tiny  ringlets  at  the  nape  of  her  neck.  The  day 
was  very  warm.  She  played  patience  in  the  bow  of  the 
boat  while  Rolf,  burning  and  blistering  in  an  outing 
shirt  open  at  the  throat,  angled  with  avidity. 

"The  thing  for  you  to  do,"  he  threw  at  Muffet  as  an 


The  Heart's  Justice  157 

aspersion  on  her  idleness,  "is  to  watch  sharp  for  frogs 
and  tell  me  when  you  see  one." 

"But  they're  everywhere,"  she  cried  almost  in  hysteria 
over  the  queer,  inquisitive-eyed  creatures  squatting  on 
rocks  and  great,  flat  lily  leaves.  Their  grotesque  intel- 
ligence seen  at  close  quarters  took  her  back  to  the  frog 
in  fairy  lore,  always  a  prince  who  by  some  turn  of  black 
magic  had  been  transformed  into  his  present  state.  She 
could  not  help  feeling  that  the  souls  of  the  condemned 
peered  from  those  mournful  eyes. 

Rolf,  standing  and  maintaining  a  precarious  balance, 
contrived  to  bring  the  gaudy  scrap  of  flannel  before  the 
frog's  vision  whereupon  the  luckless  creature  would 
spring  for  it,  get  the  hook  sickeningly  embedded  in  its 
belly,  and  fight  humanly  with,  what  seemed  to  Muffet, 
its  hands  to  extricate  itself.  Then  a  low  "Ah !"  from 
Rolf  and  "Did  you  see?"  needing  her  praise  for  his 
prowess.  A  man  married  in  order  that  he  might  have 
this  suave  flattery  forever,  in  his  ears.  He  was  conscious 
that  he  frogged  as  he  did  everything  else — expertly. 
But  women  were  incalculable.  There  was  his  woman, 
who  should  have  been  admiring  and  attentive,  dangling 
her  hands  in  the  water  and  looking  squeamishly  away 
each  time  he  made  a  capture. 

The  truth  was  that  the  wholesale  slaughter  made  her 
ill.  The  bottom  of  the  boat  was  soon  covered  with 
sprawling,  mutilated  bodies,  the  heat  sent  a  raw  smell 
of  frogs  and  mud  and  blistering  paint  to  add  to  her 
distaste.  She  yearned  toward  the  shade  of  an  Elysian 
bank  where  she  might  lie  on  fragrant  pine  needles  and 
think  cool  thoughts.  That  was  the  sort  of  thing  she 
and  her  father  would  have  done.  In  retrospect  their 
old  innocuous  ways  seemed  sadly  sweet  to  her  as  ways 
forever  lost.  And  that  day  she  missed  him  acutely 


158  The  Heart's  Justice 

and  the  circumstance  of  marriage  seemed  doubly 
strange. 

"Are  you  having  a  good  time?"  inquired  Rolf  neg- 
ligently, outrageous  contentment  in  the  tone.  His  hat 
was  off  in  defiance  of  the  sun,  his  forehead  brightly 
bedewed. 

"Yes,"  answered  Muffet  constrainedly.  "Have  you 
caught  nearly  enough  ?" 

He  turned  upon  her  censoriously. 

"Looka  here,  how  shall  I  ever  do  anything  in  life 
if  you're  always  blocking  me?" 

"But  you  don't  expect  to  go  through  life  f rogging,  do 
you,  Rolf?" 

"I  expect  to  go  through  life  doing  things  that  take 
a  deal  more  enterprise.  You've  got  to  be  ruthless  if 
you  get  what  you  want." 

Inwardly  she  was  disputatious  but  what  was  the  use 
of  arguing  with  the  sun  a  bursting  cannon-ball  over- 
head ?  So  she  said  limply, 

"I'd  like  to  sit  in  the  shade,"  and  added  in  the  cajol- 
ing tone  of  a  small  child,  "You  could  smoke." 

He  laughed  then.    He  had  to.    He  said, 

"You  funny  little  girl,"  sobriquet  which  she  suffered 
in  silence;  she  did  not  feel  like  a  little  girl  at  all  but 
immeasurably  older  than  Rolf  at  that  moment  with 
a  kind  of  pitying  superiority. 

When  they  were  home  once  more  and  his  mission 
accomplished  Rolf  wondered  if  he  had  been  inconsid- 
erate. When,  after  cleaning  his  catch,  he  went  to  look 
for  Muffet  he  found  her  in  their  room  lying  on  the 
bed,  the  blind  drawn  against  the  ferocious  glare  out- 
side. Instantly  he  was  all  solicitude. 

"You  should  have  told  me  that  the  sun  was  giving 
you  a  headache." 


The  Heart's  Justice  159 

She  quivered  silently. 

"Shall  I  just  go  away  and  let  you  sleep?" 

"Yes,  Eolf,  please." 

He  kissed  her  and  tiptoed  toward  the  door.  Half 
way  across  the  room  he  turned  and  tiptoed  back.  The 
child-like  things  men  do! 

"They're  all  on  a  platter  and  salted,"  he  confided 
complacently.  "Would  you  like  to  see  them?"  where- 
upon she  turned  and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  with 
a  storm  of  hysterical  tears. 

"No — no — no,"  came  her  voice  in  muffled  sobs  and 
laughter. 

No  ?  Rolf's  face  was  a  study.  What  the  devil  did 
it  all  mean?  His  face  grew  hotter  than  its  sun-burn; 
it  took  on  a  look  of  righteous  resentment. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  loudly,  with  the  accent  on  the 
"very."  Then  he  mumbled  with  absurd  dignity,  "I 
only  thought — it's  such  a  sight — I  only  thought  you 
might  like  to  see  them  twitch." 


Evening  in  the  grape  arbor  a  week  later.  Muffet  a 
white  blur  against  the  rustic  seat,  Rolf,  with  his  cigar- 
ette, completely,  comfortably  silent  as  men  are  when  they 
withdraw  into  the  resource  of  themselves  and  ponder 
their  excellences.  Indoors  Vannie,  clearing  away  the 
dinner  dishes,  could  be  heard  in  her  old  lament, 

"A  great  long  freight  train  and  a  red  ca-boose, 
Brought  sorrer  to  mah  do'  .  .  ." 

The  voice  was  as  mellow  as  the  moonshine  without, 
as  sad  as  the  history  of  sorrow.  Muffet  thought, 


160  The  Heart's  Justice 

"What  loneliness  have  they  in  their  souls  that  makes 
them  sing  like  that  ?" 

Sterling  said:  "Beats  all  how  niggers  whine!"  and 
laughed.  Then  again  he  was  silent,  going  back  to  him- 
self, his  industry  and  good  fortune  and  the  woman  who 
had  promised  to  help  him  build  his  home. 

The  horse  chestnut  tree,  rearing  itself  in  a  soft  pyr- 
amid against  the  stars  trembled  in  its  cone-shaped  blos- 
soms and  diffused  a  troubling  perfume.  As  the  moon 
rose  the  shadows  on  the  ground  designated  themselves 
as  heart-shaped  leaves,  immature  f  rettings  of  grapes  and 
the  cross-stitch  of  lattice.  Muffet  and  Rolf  could  see 
the  fireflies  in  intermittent  flashes  across  the  silver 
garden,  a  low,  luminous  mist  of  them  along  the  marshes. 

Rolf,  finding  his  thoughts  in  reminiscence,  broke  out 
to  share  them  with  Muffet  and  talked  of  his  boyhood, 
the  humble  but  happy  days  in  the  ship  chandler's  shop, 
or  at  home  in  his  mother's  tiny  kitchen  where  two  win- 
dows opened  on  the  bay  and  were  like  picture  frames 
with  the  composition  continually  changing.  He  spoke 
of  the  bitterness  that  it  was  to  him  to  have  lost  his 
mother  before  his  success  was  assured.  He  said  that 
there  had  been  but  two  women  in  his  life,  his  mother 
and  his  wife.  Oh,  there  had  been  others,  of  course, 
but  inconsiderable  in  the  largest  sense.  His  mother's 
influence  had  survived  all  these  years,  and  now  he  asked 
only  that  Muffet  should  be  interested  in  his  career,  and 
not  stand  aside  from  it.  He  said  that  he  believed  in 
confidence  without  reservation  and  with  a  fumbling 
awkwardness  he  asked  her  if  there  was  not  just  one 
confidence  she  had  withheld  from  him.  Not  unreas- 
onably, it  seemed  to  Rolf  that  having  married  into  the 
family  he  was  entitled  to  some  explanation  in  regard 
to  her  mother.  He  had  naturally  expected  that,  prior 


The  Heart's  Justice  161 

to  their  marriage,  David  would  open  the  subject  of  his 
own  accord,  would  clarify  himself  as  a  divorced  or  a 
legally  bound  man  and  intimate  what  attitude  Rolf 
would  be  called  upon  to  take  toward  the  woman  of  mys- 
tery. But  public  opinion  could  have  told  him  that  the 
Harlows  were  odd,  sealed  in  pride,  inaccessible.  They 
would  be  capable  of  carrying  their  reserve  to  the  utmost 
lengths.  And  that  was  what  they  were  doing.  Muffet 
started. 

"My  childhood,  Rolf?"  He  sensed  a  tautening  of 
her  body,  a  coordination  of  her  forces.  "Can't  you 
imagine?  I've  always  lived  in  this  old  house — or 
nearly  always.  First  there  was  my  grandmother  Har- 
low,  then  my  father  and  mother,  then  my  father  and 
I.  .  .  ." 

The  rebuff  had  been  made  delicately  yet  was  entirely 
effective.  There  sat  Rolf,  rather  warm  beneath  his 
collar,  hors  de  combat.  He  was  hurt  in  the  most 
vulnerable  quarter — he  was  hurt  in  his  pride.  But 
to  have  admitted,  even  to  himself,  that  a  slight  had 
been  put  upon  him  would  have  amounted  to  ignominy. 
Instead,  like  a  child  that  nurses  its  finger  in  its  mouth, 
he  sought  the  distraction  of  other  thoughts,  other  satis- 
factions. What  did  it  matter  if  they  preferred  to  keep 
the  family  skeleton  in  its  closet  and  remain  eternally 
custodians  of  the  key?  Undeniably  he  had  Muffet 
and  the  dizzying  privilege  of  loving  her. 

He  touched  her  now,  the  electric  current  of  longing 
creeping  down  his  arms  and  into  his  finger-tips.  The 
contour  of  her  shoulder,  slender  yet  round,  felt  warm 
through  her  frock — she  was  all  thinly  starched  and 
naively  sweet  like  a  child  at  a  party. 

"Muffet,"  he  asked  urgently,  "what  are  you  think- 
ing of  ?" 


162  The  Heart's  Justice 

She  laughed  apologetically. 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  good  times  we  shall  have 
when  Father  comes  home." 

His  lips  thinned  and  straightened  stressfully. 

"Don't  think  of  them,  Darling,  think  of  now  when 
we  are  alone  together."  The  plea  turned  to  a  command. 
"Think  of  now,"  he  reiterated  almost  angrily. 

"Yes,  Rolf,  I'm  thinking  of  it." 

"Say  you  belong  to  me,  Muffet." 

"Why,  Rolf,  I  suppose  I  do." 

"And  that  you  love  me — Say  it!"  Her  face  was 
uplifted  piteously,  in  panic  before  his  pursuing  and 
relentless  passion. 

"How  could  I  help  it,"  she  countered  in  a  thin  voice 
of  distress,  "you've  been  so  kind * 

"Are  you  sure,  sure?"  and  he  shook  her  by  the 
shoulders. 

"Oh,  Rolf,  when  you  say  it  like  that — "  She  was 
almost  in  tears. 

"Well,  I  want  to  know,"  said  he  grimly  and  taking 
her  face  between  his  hands  he  stifled  the  long  sigh  that 
was  on  her  lips.  "Does  it  make  you  happy  to  be  kissed 
like  that  ?  Tell  me,  does  it  make  you  happy  ?" 

"Yes,  Rolf,  no,  Rolf  .  .  .  oh,"  with  despairing 
candor,  "it's  too  soon  to  know,  too  soon  to  know.  Please 
won't  you  wait  ?" 

Suddenly  he  released  her,  dropped  her  coldly,  almost 
pushed  her  from  him.  He  laughed  at  his  own  humil- 
iation, rose  shakenly  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"I  suppose  I  must  give  you  time." 

The  next  morning  when  he  wakened  Muffet  was 
already  out  of  bed.  In  her  light  silk  kimono,  like  a 
flower  gone  pale  in  the  rains,  she  was  stooping  to  pick 
up  something  that  had  been  slipped  under  the  door. 


The  Heart's  Justice  163 

She  read  and  the  very  shadows  of  sleep  crept  clear  of 
her  eyes;  she  read  and  was  restored.  Rolf,  through 
the  surviving  partitions  of  slumber,  witnessed  the  per- 
formance with  a  jealousy  that  stung  him  wide  awake. 
Scratch  came  his  voice  like  a  needle  across  a  piece  of 
linen : 

"May  I  ask  who's  sending  you  letters  this  hour  of 
the  morning?" 

Without  a  word  she  handed  him  the  letter,  an  infor- 
mal communication  written  on  the  back  of  a  grocer's 
slip. 

Beloved: — (it  said)  I  came  at  midnight  and  met 
our  Nick  just  crawling  under  the  hedge.  He  asked  me 
no  questions  and  I  told  no  lies.  On  the  other  hand 
I  feel  that  where  the  cat  calls  is  no  concern  of  mine. 
So  we  entered  the  house  like  gentlemen,  I  through  the 
door  and  JSTicodemus  through  the  pantry  window. 
Elijah  is  back,  too,  with  importance  on  his  coat-tails, 
in  anxiety  to  know  if  the  factory  is  still  running.  How 
I've  missed  you,  Little  Miss  Muffet,  and  how  long  it 
will  seem  till  evening  when  I'm  home  from  work.  My 
regards  to  Rolf,  good  fellow,  and  endless  love  from 
your  IATHEB. 


Chapter  XVI 


ELIJAH'S  farm,   preserved  as  a  monument  to 
his  boyhood,  was  perched  precariously  on  a  min- 
iature mountain  of  the  Berkshires,  and  was  a 
sanctum  to  which  the  two  men,  at  convenient  intervals 
over  a  period  of  many  years,  had  been  wront  to  retire. 
At  Elijah's  farm  they  rested  their  toil-racked  bodies 
with  the  simple  recreations  of  men  past  the  prime  of 
life.     They  went  to  bed  with  the  chickens  and  rose  at 
the  cannon  of  dawn.     But  this  year  David  seemed,  as 
Elijah  expressed  it,  "un-get-at-able." 

The  truth  was  that  David  believed  himself  to  be 
seeing  the  farm  for  the  last  time  and  the  pressure  of 
his  loneliness  made  his  remarks  cryptic  or  inattentive. 
Also  he  was  desolated  by  the  thought  that  something 
more  than  the  barrier  of  miles  separated  him  from  his 
child.  The  inexorable  division  had  come  a  little  ahead 
of  the  one  which  fate  intended  and  this  by  his  own 
decree.  Now  that  she  was  married  he  was  tormented 
by  doubts  of  the  validity  of  that  marriage,  and  his 
own  moral  right  to  have  arbitrated  in  its  favor.  Had 
it  been  a  selfish  or  unselfish  act  on  the  part  of  the 
parent?  Constantly  the  question  was  before  him,  de- 
manding to  be  dealt  with,  when  he  was  wandering 
through  the  emerald  green  pastures  with  his  old  friend 
in  the  morning,  when  he  lay  beneath  a  patch-work 

164 


The  Heart's  Justice  165 

quilt  in  his  gabled  room  at  night,  listening  to  the  sum- 
mer rain  thrumming  the  roof,  or  shrinking  from  the 
pale  accusation  of  the  moon.  He  had  coerced  Muffet 
into  marriage  in  order  that  his  mind  might  be  at  rest. 
Was  such  an  act  one  of  altruism?  The  truly  unselfish 
thing  would  have  been  a  stouter  grapple  with  life,  the 
compelling  of  an  income  that  would  have  left  the  girl 
free  to  marry  or  not  as  she  liked.  No,  he  was  not,  by 
any  means  blameless.  He  was  a  man  who  had  been 
too  careless  to  insure  for  his  daughter  a  safe  future. 
He  was  one  who  had  indulged  himself  in  his  hobby  and 
ridden  it  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  He  had 
lived  on  his  child's  devotion  and  waxed  smug  because 
she  called  him  a  great  man. 

As  he  and  Elijah  were  quite  beautifully  frank  with 
one  another  Elijah  felt  constrained  to  tell  him  that  he 
was  become  "a  consarned  kill-joy." 

"And  being  as  you  be"  the  little  man  ended  with  a 
flourish,  "dunno's  there's  anyone  I'd  less  rather  have 
round !" 

His  spirited  indictment  brought  a  sad  smile  to  David's 
lips.  They  were  doing  their  leisurely  mile  after  sup- 
per along  the  trail  of  Elijah's  Alpine  holdings.  A 
prospect  of  fair  valley  lay  below  them,  a  living  bowl 
of  green  lined  with  a  bewildering  array  of  wild  flowers. 
The  opposite  rim  of  the  bowl  was  curved  smoothly  up 
and  the  sun  was  poised  on  the  thin  edge  in  the  moment 
of  bright  panic  before  its  departure.  It  seemed  to  David 
that  it  was  always  sunset,  a  sunset  arranged  with  a 
certain  deliberateness  as  a  sermon  to  old  or  ailing  men. 
Die  beautifully,  it  preached,  go  out  in  a  phantasmagoria 
of  colors.  But  he  could  never  hope  to  do  that.  The  best 
that  he  could  hope  for  was  a  simple  ending,  distinguished 
by  the  absence  of  a  flaw  of  fear.  He  was  grateful 


1 66  The  Heart's  Justice 

that  the  craven  cowardice  which  had  quite  unmanned 
him  at  the  start  had  given  place  to  a  grim  acceptance. 
He  was  glad  that  he  had  not  yielded  to  the  temptation 
of  telling  Elijah  then.  He  could  not  have  done  it 
creditably.  But  now  there  seemed  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  share  his  secret.  It  would  mean  the  comfort 
of  a  hand  in  the  darkness,  a  contemporary  understanding 
and  respect.  It  would  depress  Elijah,  yes,  but  it  would 
not  be  a  dastardly  thing  to  do  like  telling  Muffet.  It 
would  kill  his  treasure  were  she  to  know,  wither  the 
young  flower  of  her  heart.  Because  her  father  was 
first  with  her!  Ah,  he  had  said  it  and  basely  admitted 
that  he  was  glad  he  was  first.  Yet  he  had  the  grace 
to  acknowledge  that  in  controlling  her  affection  as  he 
did  he  was  thwarting  the  eternal  plan  of  the  universe. 
Because  now  Rolf  should  be  first.  He  lost  himself 
in  the  complexity  of  his  reasoning.  And  there  sat 
Elijah  beside  him  on  the  bowlder  where  they  had  tarried 
to  rest,  fuming  like  a  neglected  child. 

"Elijah,"  said  David,  with  imposing  calm,  "what 
would  you  say  if  I  told  you  that  next  year  or  the  year 
after  you  will  be  here  alone  ?" 

Elijah  picked  a  straw  and  chewed  it  irascibly. 

"Say  you  were  a  damn  fool,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 
"Any  man's  a  damn  fool  who  stays  sweltering  in  Wedge- 
water  when  he's  got  this  to  come  to." 

"Ah,"  said  David  with  tender  playfulness,  "what  if 
I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  not  even  be  in  Wedge- 
water  at  that  time,  nor  the  state  nor  the  country  nor 
anywhere  else?"  He  was  proud  of  the  superb  control 
he  kept  on  his  voice. 

"Say  you  were  a  damn  fool,"  reiterated  Elijah,  but 
this  time  nervously  as  one  who  resents  cruel  teasing. 

"Nevertheless,  it's  true."    The  voice  fell  into  gravity. 


The  Heart's  Justice  167 

"Look  here,  young  feller,"  protested  Elijah,  jerking 
upright,  "don't  you  come  no  games  on  me,  don't  you 
come  no  games  on  me.  What's  this  talk  about  bein' 
nowhere,  no  place?  Rubbish  and  fiddlesticks!" 

He  was  profoundly  moved  and  he  showed  it  by  an 
access  of  ridicule. 

"  'Lije,"  said  David  softly,  "you  know  Doc  Dutton, 
don't  you,  and  you  know  he's  not  a  man  to  mince  words, 
an'  you  know  me  and  how  several  times  of  late  I've 
been  taken  with  those  pesky  spells  o'  dizziness  ?" 

Elijah  nodded,  chewing. 

"About  a  month  ago  Alf  made  a  thorough  examina- 
tion. Then  he  told  me,  'Dave,  old  boy,  the  days  are 
numbered.'  He  told  me  just  like  that  because  he 
wanted  to  warn  me  fair  and  give  me  time  to  arrange 
matters  for  little  Miss  Muffet.  He  said  it  might  be 
a  year  or  it  might  be  two." 

"No,"  said  Elijah  shakenly,  "no." 

"Yes,"  nodded  David. 

"But  you  say  he  told  you  so  you  could  arrange  mat- 
ters for  Muffet." 

David  nodded  again. 

"I  arranged  'em,  'Lije." 

"Whatdye  mean  you  arranged  'em,  Dave?" 

"I  saw  to  it  that  she  married  young  Sterling." 
Suddenly  the  tears  tricked  him.  He  made  a  fist  of  his 
hand  and  beat  it  wretchedly  on  his  knee.  "That's  what 
I  did,  'Lije,  God  help  me,  that's  what  I  did,  knowin' 
the  child — knowin'  the  child — why,  you  must  have  seen 
yourself  her  heart  wasn't  in  the  bargain." 

"You  mean  she  don't  love  Sterling?"  Elijah  sat 
back,  both  hands  knotted  about  the  stout  stick  that  he 
had  cut  for  walking.  "She  must  love  him,"  he  de- 
clared angrily.  "Why,  he's  young,  he's  well-to-do,  he's 


168  The  Heart's  Justice 

handsome  as  a  chromo.  I  thought  that  was  what  girls 
wanted." 

"Oh,  'Lije,  you  don't  know  Muffet.  She's  different 
in  every  way  from  the  ordinary  girl.  She's — well,  she's 
rare.  It's  in  her  to  suffer  the  tortures  of  the  damned 
just  supposin'  he  doesn't  handle  her  right." 

"Pshaw,"  said  Elijah  helplessly,  "what's  the  good 
supposin'  a  thing  like  that  ?  Why,  he's  head  over  heels 
in  love  with  the  girl,  and  even  granted  she  wasn't  clean 
gone  on  him  in  the  beginning  there's  something  about 
marriage,  Dave,  a  consecration,  that  tends  to  draw  a 
man  and  woman  together." 

"Hm,  there  have  been  exceptions  to  that  rule.  No, 
I  tell  you,  'Lije,  it  was  too  big  a  risk,  too  big  a  respon- 
sibility for  me  to  have  taken  on  my  soul,  and  Muffet 
looking  to  me  for  guidance.  One  can't  be  so  careless 
of  human  destiny.  But  I  didn't  see  it  at  the  time ;  all 
I  saw  at  the  time  was  she'd  need  a  protector  and  need 
him  soon,  and  I  didn't  dare  let  the  thing  run." 

Elijah  glowered  into  the  valley.  Then  he  spoke  with 
difficulty. 

"There's  all  kinds  of  fools,  Dave,  and  sometimes  I 
think  the  whole  pa' eel  of  'em's  got  together  in  you. 
Didn't  you  know,  didn't  you  know  I'd  have  looked  out 
for  Muffet?  Why,  God  A'mighty,  I  always  supposed 
she  was  our  girl  together,  Dave ;  I'd  always  banked  on 
takin'  her  under  my  wing  if  you  was  first  to  go.  And 
now  you  gone  on  account  o'  your  consarned  pride  an' 
pig-headedness  an'  married  her  off,  willy-nilly,  an'  you 
got  the  audacity  to  tell  me  about  it  afterward!" 

Elijah  blew  his  nose.  His  watery  eyes  with  the  pale, 
stubby  lashes  blinked  furiously  like  the  eyes  of  a  mon- 
key in  distress. 

"Well,  now  it's  done  it's  done,  an'  we  got  to  hope 


The  Heart's  Justice  169 

for  the  best.  But  see  here,"  he  turned  upon  David  and 
clutched  his  arm  fiercely,  "you  can't  die.  Why,  you 
ain't  put  through  your  invention  yet." 

"JSTo,  I've  not  put  through  my  invention." 

"And  we  ain't  done  one  quarter  o'  the  things  we 
planned  to  do  together.  Dave,"  pleaded  Elijah,  "it's 
an  outlandish  notion." 

"It's — it's  fantastic,"  murmured  David.  "But  Old 
Alf  never  makes  mistakes.  We've  got  to  face  it." 

And  all  the  time  Elijah  knew  it  was  the  truth  and 
the  shadows  sank  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  face. 

"I  suppose  so,  but  I'll  miss  you,  Dave."  The  sim- 
plicity of  the  acceptance  touched  David  deeply. 

He  knew  very  well  the  loneliness  that  ached  in 
Elijah,  but  Elijah  did  not  know  that  he  knew.  He 
was  afraid  of  womanishness,  of  giving  way.  At  the 
same  time  he  longed  to  express  to  David  in  some  ad- 
equate action  how  profoundly  the  news  had  affected 
him.  As  they  rose  to  go  he  thrust  the  rough-hewn 
walking  stick  into  his  hands. 

"Here,  Dave,  you  take  this." 

But  it  was  really  Elijah  who  needed  it. 


n 


All  about  the  house  on  Wedgewater  Road  the  noise 
of  carpentering.  The  property  belongs  to  Rolf  Sterling 
now  and  Rolf  is  wasting  no  time.  He  could  not  pos- 
sibly, he  had  said,  live  under  another  man's  roof,  so, 
since  Muffet  would  not  hear  of  going  elsewhere,  it  was 
decided  that  he  should  buy  the  house  and  that  David 
should  continue  to  live  in  it.  In  short,  what  Rolf 
himself  was  too  proud  to  do  was  to  become  the  portion 


170  The  Heart's  Justice 

of  David.  The  simplicity  of  his  reasoning  sent  a  smile 
into  David's  soul,  but  he  was  aware  that  youth  de- 
mands right  of  way  before  age,  that  he  was  now  sup- 
posed to  carry  his  pride  in  a  baggy  pocket.  Now  all 
that  Rolf's  enterprising  imagination  had  yearned  to 
change  was  being  altered  with  gusto  and  direction.  Be- 
fore it  had  expressed  the  fag-end  of  a  line  of  Harlows, 
now  it  was  bent  on  becoming  as  speedily  as  possible  the 
habitat  of  one,  Rolf  Sterling,  whose  standard  of  living 
was  a  very  different  matter. 

Hardly  had  the  honeymoon  ended  than  he  was  en- 
gaged with  architect  and  contractors. 

"Good  Colonial  line  to  begin  with,"  the  young  archi- 
tect had  commented  with  clipped  satisfaction,  meaning 
that  he  would  end  by  obliterating  them.  His  "Colonial 
with  modifications"  as  expressed  in  the  blue  prints 
certainly  brought  the  house  up  to  date,  and  set  it  to 
rank  with  Wedgewater's  richest  mediocrity.  "Oh,"  ex- 
claimed Muffet  when  shown  the  drawings,  but  whether 
the  monosyllable  was  one  of  protest  or  admiration  was 
never  quite  clear.  Since  there  was  nothing  she  could 
do  about  it  without  the  risk  of  upsetting  Rolf's  pride 
and  all  his  preconceived  notions  she  adopted  the  wiser 
course  of  silence.  Rolf,  it  proved,  was  inspired  by  a 
very  frenzy  for  comfort  and  improvements.  In  the 
middle  of  the  scorching  summer  the  work  was  begun 
and  all  the  cool  silver  and  moss  of  the  clapboards  torn 
from  the  bleeding  walls.  Outside  were  heaps  of  new 
materials,  in  readiness,  hot,  honey-colored  shingles,  and 
baking  bricks  that  tortured  the  eye  whenever  it  fell 
upon  them. 

All  day  the  woodpecker  hammering,  the  rasp  of  tin 
being  freed  from  its  lodging,  of  workmen,  the  tread  of 
titanic  feet  on  the  roof. 


The  Heart's  Justice  171 

"We  shall  never,"  thought  Muffet,  "be  able  to  hear 
ourselves  think  again." 

At  noon  the  workmen  tumbled  from  the  roofs  and 
went  to  sprawl  in  the  shade  with  dinner  pails  and  water 
jugs,  they  lolled  against  the  trees  like  dilapidated,  dis- 
jointed dolls  or  lay  face-downward  in  the  grass  as 
though  they  would  never  rise  again.  But  before  the 
noon  heat  had  abated  they  were  up,  red-faced  and  ani- 
mated in  the  torturing  glare,  like  an  army  of  wood- 
peckers on  the  roof. 

One  by  one  the  vulnerable  points  of  the  house  were 
attacked;  with  consternation  Muffet  saw  the  downfall 
of  what  had  become  indisseverably  a  part  of  her  life, 
the  small,  square-panes  of  the  windows,  the  teary  glass 
that  she  had  loved  because  of  its  quaint  quality,  and 
the  whimsical  distortion  of  the  scenes  that  it  showed. 
Plate  glass  was  the  new  order  of  the  day  and  Rolf  said, 
with  its  installation,  "There,  now  we'll  be  able  to  see  the 
world!"  He  smoothed  away  the  arches  above  the 
gabled  windows  so  that  the  moonlight  shone  in  squarely 
and  no  longer  made  fantastic  designs  on  the  ceilings. 

And  in  his  and  Muffet's  joint  bedchamber  there  were 
electrical  fittings  above  the  dressing  table,  hardwood 
floors  and  a  lavish  use  of  white  paint.  Vannie,  trip- 
ping over  the  painters'  canvases  on  one  of  her  tours 
of  inspection,  thrust  her  head  in  at  the  door  and  was 
moved  to  the  tribute, 

"Fo'  de  Lawd,  ain't  it  pure?" 

And  Rolf's  innocent  enthusiasm,  his  innocent  com- 
posure made  the  exploitation  of  the  loved  place  hard  to 
decry.  Lucky  for  Muffet  that  she  had  her  father  to 
share  the  wound  of  it.  They  bore  up  like  thorough- 
breds, with  hardly  an  uncurbed  word  to  cast  the  shadow 
on  Rolf's  pleasure.  It  was  only,  now  and  again,  inad- 


172  The  Heart's  Justice 

vertently,  that  they  slipped,  as  in  the  instance  of  the 
south  window  which  had  remained  blind  for  so  many 
years. 

Muffet,  stumbling  into  an  unwonted  glare,  gave  a 
slight  scream. 

"Rolf,  what  have  you  done?" 

With  unconscious  sacrilege  the  blind  had  been  torn 
away,  and  with  it  the  old  tradition  of  sanctuary  for 
the  birds. 

"Well,  what  have  I  done?"  demanded  Sterling,  ar- 
rested, dumfounded  by  her  look  of  accusation. 

But  without  answering  him  Muffet  turned,  fumbling 
for  her  father. 

"Oh,  Father,"  she  whispered,  "the  poor  Jenny 
Wrens." 


in 


It  was  not  so  much  the  words  that  stabbed  Rolf  as 
what  they  implied,  a  common  knowledge  between  her 
father  and  herself,  an  incidental  secret  which  they 
shared  in  common,  and  from  which  he  was  excluded,  as 
he  was  excluded  from  all  the  mysterious  intimacy  of 
their  lives. 

The  three-cornered  relationship  was  new  to  them; 
it  needed  adjustment ;  it  needed  time  to  make  it  mitre 
at  the  joinings.  His  common  sense  told  him  that.  But 
his  instinct,  for  the  first  time  actively  roused,  was 
sorely  contentious.  The  very  simplicity  of  his  dedica- 
tion to  Muffet,  demanded  a  like  response.  And  here 
she  was  continually  going  back  to  the  fields  of  fancy 
where  she  had  romped  with  her  father,  withholding 
from  him  some  part  of  her  mind,  her  imagination.  As 
in  this  matter  of  the  Jenny  Wrens.  They  would  never 


The  Heart's  Justice  173 

embellish  the  tale  of  their  folly  about  the  blind,  but  it 
would  be  there  between  them,  they  would  remember 
together  and  while  they  were  remembering  Rolf  would 
be  alone. 


Chapter  XVII 


AS  may  be  imagined,  Elijah  Moore  was  the  re- 
cipient of  but  few  letters.  No  friendly  effu- 
sions in  informal  envelopes  were  wont  to  be 
slipped  under  his  door.  He  subscribed  to  a  weekly 
magazine  known  as  Progress  in  Science,  and  to  two 
monthly  ones,  The  Draftsman's  Journal,  and  The  En- 
terprising Farmer:  these  three  wore  respectively  blue, 
yellow  and  white  wrappers  about  their  cylindrical  forms. 
The  postman  opened  the  door  a  crack  and  dropped 
them  on  the  floor  inside  along  with  an  occasional 
sparse  bill,  or  a  letter  from  the  people  who  worked 
his  farm.  No  personal  interest  was  to  be  drawn  from 
any  of  these,  but  having  become  used  to  his  loneliness 
Elijah  was  not  given  to  hankering  for  colorful  episodes. 
Great  then  was  his  surprise  one  morning  in  July 
to  find  among  the  sifting  of  anemic  mail  an  envelope 
of  highly  individualized  character.  It  was  gray  and 
it  was  large,  the  very  handwriting  a  gesture  of  extrava- 
gance. Elijah  did  what  he  called  "heft  it"  several 
times,  then  he  took  it  to  the  light  and,  reading  the 
superscription  carefully,  tasted  a  certain  adroit  flattery 
in  the  forming  of  the  letters.  It  was  as  though  he 
had  never  seen  his  own  name  conjoined  with  his  ad- 
dress before,  or  as  though  in  this  special  composition 
of  them  he  became  reincarnated  as  another  sort  of 

174 


The  Heart's  Justice  175 

man  altogether.  Still  he  did  not  open  the  envelope 
at  once.  He  postponed  the  moment  for  doing  so  till 
he  was  in  his  house  jacket  of  black  alpaca  and  wearing 
his  slippers  of  scuffed  red  morocco.  He  speculated  on 
the  sender  with  lively  interest.  He  was  slow  in  finding 
his  glasses. 

But  when  he  finally  began  to  read  he  read  very  fast. 
The  handwriting  was  bold,  despite  its  elegance,  and 
accomplished  no  more  than  four  or  five  lines  to  a  page. 
The  message  was  direct,  exquisitely  simple,  to  Elijah 
utterly  staggering.  When  he  finished  he  had  to  wipe 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

That  he,  Elijah  Moore,  respectable  and  respected, 
should  find  himself  in  communication  with  the  woman 
whose  sinfulness,  whose  glamor  had  come  to  make  her 
seem  after  all  these  years,  the  creature  of  a  myth,  was 
incredible.  Yet  here  was  the  letter,  a  tangible  thing, 
and  there  was  its  message  which  ran  clear  as  summer 
lightning.  She  had  heard  of  her  daughter's  marriage 
but  as  no  intimate  details  of  it  had  been  vouchsafed  her 
she  was  asking  Elijah,  as  the  familiar  of  the  family, 
to  tell  her  what  he  could.  He  would  hold  her  request 
in  confidence  she  felt  sure,  and  on  her  part  she  prom- 
ised to  respect  the  favor  he  conferred  in  writing  her. 
He  might  do  so  with  strict  neutrality.  Surely  a 
mother  had  a  right  to  know  of  the  vital  events  in  the 
life  of  her  child.  And  in  closing  she  told  him  am- 
biguously that  she  was  not  now  called  by  the  name  of 
Harlow,  and  gave  him  another.  The  address  was  of 
a  correct  neighborhood  of  New  York. 

For  nearly  a  week  Elijah  went  about  with  this  mis- 
sive burning  a  hole  in  his  pocket,  queerly  in  the  grip  of 
his  conflicting  emotions.  She  was  an  electric  woman, 
this  woman  of  mystery,  and  the  mere  fact  that  he  had 


176  The  Heart's  Justice 

heard  from  her  seemed  to  link  him  up  with  a  chain  of 
events,  preposterous  and  vivid.  He  wondered  what 
his  contemporaries  would  say,  those  who  had  not  for- 
gotten, were  they  to  know  him  in  communication  with 
a  scarlet  woman.  Inevitably  for  Elijah  she  was  scored 
as  the  harlot ;  yet  he  was  uneasily  conscious  that  in  her 
outlawry  she  remained  fastidious  and  fascinating.  In 
annoying  mental  medallions  he  had  glimpses  of  her 
white,  dripping  fingers  that  had  never  done  more  than 
posture  and  look  pretty,  of  her  head  created  for  atti- 
tudes,— the  very  cadences  of  her  voice  came  back  to 
him,  Muffet's  voice  with  insidious  differences. 

She  had  despised  and  patronized  Elijah,  been  barely 
civil  to  him  always.  But  now  she  conferred  the  favor 
of  asking  one  of  him.  He  was  singled  out  by  her 
thought.  Elijah  was  a  simple  man  who  said  his  prayers. 
He  feared  contamination  and  communed  with  the 
Deity.  He  also  feared  an  act  of  disloyalty  to  David. 
But  she  was  potent,  even  at  a  distance  and  that  sentence 
about  a  mother  and  her  child  was  Elijah's  undoing. 

One  night  he  sat  down  with  his  lined  note-paper  and 
a  bottle  of  that  sanguine  ink  which  he  kept  for  draw- 
ing purposes,  and  answered  the  letter.  He  was  neutral 
and  concise,  guarded  against  the  possibility  of  further 
correspondence.  With  tongue  between  his  teeth,  he 
achieved  the  small,  shaded  letters  of  his  reply.  He 
told  her  that  Muffet  had  married  a  very  promising  and 
well-to-do  man  of  Wedgewater,  named  Rolf  Sterling, 
and  that  the  two,  with  David,  were  living  on  in  the 
old  house.  And  he  added  primly  in  extenuation  of  his 
own  leniency,  "You're  her  mother.  I  figure  you  have  a 
right  to  know." 

But  having  decided  all  these  questions  in  his  con- 
science he  was  yet  in  a  ferment  of  guilt  when  the  letter 


The  Heart's  Justice  177 

had  been  mailed.  For  days  he  lived  in  the  dread  of  be- 
coming involved  in  the  machinations  of  her  whose  silken 
toil  harked  back  to  the  Serpent  of  Old  Nile.  And  this 
dread  of  her  caused  him  to  think  of  himself  not  as  an 
atrophied  fellow  apprenticed  to  labor  but  as  a  virile 
man  in  delicious  danger  from  such  a  woman. 


In  the  early  days  of  Muffet's  engagement  Vannie 
had  expressed  doubts  as  to  whether  she  would  be  able 
to  care  for  two  "gemmans"  at  once.  Having  suffered 
long  from  the  eccentricities  of  David,  his  habits  of 
carelessness  and  procrastination,  she  had  naturally 
come  to  believe  that  man  was  an  animal  owning  but 
one  collar  button,  no  memory,  and  an  eternal  hole  in 
his  pocket.  As  she  told  Muffet,  quite  humorlessly,  she 
was  "ready"  and  she  was  "willin'  "  but  when  it  came 
to  supplying  collar  buttons  and  repairing  the  rips  of 
two  her  courage  failed  her. 

Conceive  then  of  her  agreeable  surprise  upon  dis- 
covering that  Rolf  was  a  man  with  a  supply  of  fine 
linen  "done  out,"  with  a  repertoire  of  suits  kept 
meticulously  in  order  by  a  tailor,  that  he  remembered 
easily  the  hour  for  meals,  and  never  called  upon  Vannie 
to  go  down  on  all  fours  and  play  the  sleuth  after  a 
collar  button  that  had  possibly  rolled  under  the  bed! 
Rolf  never  remarked  absently  at  the  table  that  he  had 
a  frayed  cuff.  He  never  came  dragging  in  from  the 
workshop  with  oil  on  his  boots  and  walked  about  the 
kitchen  floor,  conscious  only  of  some  fine  dream  in 
his  head. 

He  had  an  appetite  that  was  seldom  coy.     He  was 


178  The  Heart's  Justice 

keen  and  efficient,  independent  of  the  ministrations  of 
his  wife  or  the  servant.  One  would  scarcely  have 
thought  of  reminding  him  as  Muffet  each  morning  re- 
minded her  father,  "Have  you  a  fresh  handkerchief?" 
~No,  Rolf  scorned  to  be  served — he  made  a  point  of 
showing  her  how  admirably  well  able  he  was  to  care 
for  himself  in  such  ways.  Foolish  Rolf — to  advertise 
his  competence,  to  put  himself  entirely  outside  the  zone 
of  his  wife's  concern,  to  believe  that  admiration  and 
not  indulgence  is  the  seed  of  love,  to  believe  that  a 
woman  ever  feels  tenderly  inclined  toward  an  automa- 
ton. 

When  he  departed  briskly  for  the  factory  in  the 
morning,  as  well  set  up  as  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to 
be,  he  left  no  memory  of  a  human  shortcoming  which 
she  might  lovingly  deplore.  But  a  hundred  times 
a  day  Muffet's  thoughts  winged  to  her  father.  She 
thought  he  should  really  buy  one  of  those  Panama  hats 
that  rest  so  lightly  on  the  head.  She  wondered  if  the 
evening  meal  would  tempt  him,  after  all.  .  .  . 

Rolf,  as  he  advanced  progressively  in  his  knowl- 
edge of  father  and  daughter,  curbed  a  growing  irrita- 
tion. He  sat  with  Muffet  at  the  dinner  table  and  wit- 
nessed the  comedy  of  feminine  patience  that  racked 
him  to  the  point  of  anger.  It  happened  not  infre- 
quently that  during  the  soup  course  Vannie  went  to 
the  workshop  to  call  David  in.  When  the  meat  course 
arrived  Muffet  bade  her  imperturbably  to  remind  him 
again  and  with  simple  resignation  the  negress  did  as 
she  was  told.  Rolf,  checking  any  comment,  waited 
with  the  unjaded  interest  of  the  spectator.  The  third 
summons  brought  the  inventor,  negligent  and  oblivious, 
and  invariably  testing  what  was  set  before  him  he 


The  Heart's  Justice  179 

made  the  wry  face  of  a  child  and  complained,  "But  this 
seems  to  have  been  cooked  a  long  time." 

Rolf  wondered  how  many  years  they  had  endured  it. 


in 


The  picture  that  gradually  grew  in  Rolf's  mind,  the 
one  that  pleased  him  most  was  of  two  men,  the  one 
typifying  failure,  the  other  success.  Just  as  Albion 
Harlow,  that  truculent  financier,  had  been  shamelessly 
wont  to  employ  his  brother's  name,  his  brother's  ex- 
ample, as  the  foil  to  his  own,  so  Rolf  came  to  think  of 
his  father-in-law  as  the  shadow  cast  by  his  own  place 
in  the  sun.  He  was  fond  of  old  David — he  told  him- 
self that  there  was  no  question  of  the  filial  allegiance 
he  might  have  been  able  to  feel  toward  him  had  Muffet's 
admiration  been  more  temperate,  but  she  either  blindly 
or  deliberately  upheld  what  she  called  his  "genius," 
and  failed  to  recognize  those  little  vagaries  of  his  char- 
acter which  were  perfectly  apparent  to  Rolf  and  which 
made  him  morally  certain  that  David's  career  would 
end  with  a  wide  margin  to  greatness.  There  was,  of 
course,  his  findings  on  the  engine.  No  one  could  gain- 
say that  he  had  been  "a  good  and  faithful  servant" 
along  the  line  of  his  own  bent.  Already  he  had  stood 
before  a  director's  meeting  and  with  his  deep-set  eyes 
full  of  creative  fire,  had  laid  his  drawings  before  them, 
and  held  his  audience  in  the  sustained  hush  of  con- 
version. But  having  brought  his  brain-child  thus  far, 
it  was  as  though  he  had  left  it  on  a  doorstep.  He  did 
not  stay  to  urge  its  adoption.  He  was  without  the  gift 
of  righteous  aggression.  He  had  given  birth  to  the 
exquisite  mechanism  and  was  consecrated  to  the  love  of 


180  The  Heart's  Justice 

it,  but  being  a  child  himself,  he  did  not  know  how  to 
earn  for  it.  Rolf  wondered  how  the  old  man  would 
behave  if  success  were  thrust  upon  him,  since  that  was 
the  only  way  it  could  come,  and  what  Muffet's  attitude 
would  be  in  such  an  event.  "I  told  you  so,"  would  no 
doubt  be  her  dictum.  And  her  rejoicing  would  be  all 
of  a  different  piece  from  her  pride  in  her  husband's 
status.  She  would  hardly  recognize  that  she  had  Rolf 
to  thank  for  it.  He  went  through  his  days  laboriously 
trying  to  make  her  a  part  of  himself.  "Husband  and 
wife  should  be  one,"  he  hammered  away  at  the  thought 
like  a  blacksmith. 

It  was  Indian  summer  in  the  old  whaling  town  and 
he  had  dragged  Muffet  to  the  altar  of  social  sacrifice. 
After  returning  from  their  seashore  cottages  the  direc- 
tors of  the  Ship  and  Engine  Company  with  their  wives 
had  come  to  call.  That  was  at  the  period  where  the 
regarnished  house  was  emerging  from  the  hands  of 
the  workmen,  smelling  spicily  of  new  flooring  and  of 
lacquer.  The  lawns  had  been  regraded  and  smoothed 
and  on  the  pate-like  loam  an  incipient  fringe  of  grass 
was  appearing.  The  domicile  of  Rolf  Sterling  was 
left  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  landscape  by  dif- 
ficult degrees. 

The  callers  sat  in  Muffet's  gray  and  daffodil  living- 
room,  still  loyal  to  her  despite  its  modern  embellish- 
ments, and  mouthing  their  platitudes,  examined  her 
with  barely  repressed  curiosity.  The  way  Sterling  had 
produced  her  from  the  subterranean  soil  smacked  of 
effrontery.  She  had  been  there  always  and  they  had 
taken  no  notice  and  all  at  once,  presto,  she  was  con- 
jured into  reality.  There  stood  Sterling  like  a  smil- 
ing prestidigitator,  challenging  them  to  pick  a  flaw  in 
her.  He  was  almost  rollicking  with  the  joke  he  had 


The  Heart's  Justice  181 

coddled  at  their  expense.  He  seemed  to  be  saying, 
"Isn't  she  lovely?"  And,  "Where  have  you  been,  you 
Wedgewater  women  and  men,  to  have  let  this  slip  by 
you — this  flower  of  the  Harlows,  budding  from  the 
old  stem!" 

The  ladies  of  Wedgewater  might  have  forgiven  him 
sooner  could  they  have  been  given  opportunity  to  exer- 
cise a  courteous  condescension,  to  teach  and  train  the 
obscure  country  girl.  But  Muffet  Sterling,  notwith- 
standing her  sedentary  life,  was  so  innately  the  child 
of  breeding  that  she  made  them  look  with  uneasiness 
to  their  own  hard-won  laurels.  There  was  no  one  at 
the  present  time  in  Wedgewater  exactly  like  her. 

Plainly  gowned  and  quiet  between  two  middle-aged 
matrons  whose  sibilant  silks  and  billowing  scents  made 
for  pomposity,  she  achieved  an  effect  of  artlessness  that 
was  very  near  to  art.  Even  Rolf,  chatting  healthily 
with  the  husbands,  was  aware  of  her  easy  grace.  He 
was  proud  of  his  Harlow  wife,  taking  her  first  hurdles 
like  a  thoroughbred.  With  a  new  perspective  on  her 
youth  he  saw  that  she  had  the  poise  of  simplicity,  the 
independence  and  distinction  of  one  who  had  lived 
much  alone  and  furnished  her  mind  freely.  Yet  her 
utter  lack  of  sophistication  in  the  matter  of  love  often 
made  him  feel  that  he  had  married  a  child.  Her  face 
was  an  unscored  page,  while  the  faces  of  these  mature 
wives  and  mothers  betrayed  markings  of  internal  strife. 

They  charged  her  that  she  must  join  "The  Thimble 
Club,"  the  authentic  breeding  place,  as  she  had  already 
heard,  of  the  winds  of  gossip  which  circulated  through 
the  town.  One  needed  but  an  entree  and  a  thimble  in 
order  to  join  the  rank  and  file  of  the  arbiters  of  public 
opinion. 


1 82  The  Heart's  Justice 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  sew,"  declared  Muffet,  demurely 
daring  the  base  admission. 

She  sat  with  a  negligent  small  foot  propped  on  the 
rung  of  her  chair,  her  hands  upturned  in  her  lap,  all 
pink  curling  finger-tips.  The  husbands  stole  truant 
glances  from  Rolf  and  his  topics,  and  felt  that  they 
understood  him  very  well.  .  .  . 

But  then  there  was  the  Wednesday  Evening  Bridge 
Club,  intimated  the  elder  of  the  ladies,  adopting  a  smirk 
of  conscious  kindness.  She  would  be  charmed  to  pro- 
pose the  Sterlings'  names  as  candidates. 

"Now  don't  say  you  don't  play  bridge?" 

Rolf,  with  his  ambidextrous  ear,  accomplished  the 
feat  of  hearing  two  conversations  at  once.  His  pride 
was  perturbed  since  he,  himself,  was  an  astute  hand 
at  the  game — it  was,  in  fact,  almost  his  sole  social 
accomplishment. 

"Oh,  but  I  must  say  it  if  it  is  true,"  was  Muffet's 
characteristic  reply,  her  candor  earning  for  her  dark 
looks  of  disapproval. 

"Dear,  dear.  You  must  have  your  husband  teach 
you  at  once.  It's — it's  indispensable.  You'll  hardly 
be  able  to  enjoy  yourself  in  Wedgewater  without." 
The  first  thrust 

Muffet's  voice  stayed  velvet  but  under  the  heavy 
lashes  there  were  gold  flecks  in  her  brown  eyes,  like 
dancing  imps. 

"But  you  see,  though  no  one  seems  to  know  it,  I've 
lived  in  Wedgewater  all  my  life." 

"Yes,  fancy  that  now.  My  dear  child,  what  have 
you  done?  What  do  you  do?"  An  impulse  of  fierce 
fun  shot  through  Muffet's  head.  Ready-made  for  her 
tongue  to  take  the  words,  ran  the  jingle, 


The  Heart's  Justice  183 

"I  sometimes  search  the  grassy  knolls  for  wheels  of 
hansom  cabs." 

But  she  suppressed  the  agony  of  her  laughter  be- 
cause to  have  offended  these  people  would  have  been 
flagrantly  to  offend  Rolf.  She  did  not  wish  to  offend 
him,  but  she  was  conscious  even  as  she  made  some  con- 
ventional reply,  that  their  choice  of  friends  must  always 
differ.  No  thought  of  hers  went  to  press  its  check 
against  a  thought  of  Rolf's.  As  preposterous  as  the 
rest  of  marriage  was  the  dictum  that  his  friends 
should  be  her  friends — wholesale.  She  concentrated 
upon  him  in  his  role  of  host,  steady,  sure,  numbering 
her  as  one  of  his  chattels.  A  hot  sense  of  betrayal 
swept  over  her.  Once  she  admitted  her  mental  sick- 
ness and  its  symptoms  appalled  her.  She  made  the 
physical  gesture  of  rubbing  her  forehead,  brushing 
away  the  ghostly  cobwebs.  She  had  offered  no  leverage 
to  the  wives  but  she  warmed  to  the  neutrality  of  the 
husbands,  who  were  not  constrained  to  determine 
her  social  status.  Besides  she  saw  by  their  polite 
mouths  and  incipient  yawns  that  they  were  bored  with 
stereotyped  conversation  and  people,  the  tedious 'levels 
to  which  their  efforts  had  brought  them.  They  caught 
the  smile  in  Muffet's  eyes,  the  whimsical  word  she 
would  not  waste  on  their  wives  and  they  were  exquis- 
itely diverted. 

Rolf  proposed  a  tour  of  the  house  and  the  callers 
rose  with  avidity,  trooping  after  him  into  the  dining 
room,  with  cautious  balance  on  the  slippery  floor.  The 
wives  adhered  to  Sterling  and  plied  him  with  intelli- 
gent, housewifely  questions.  A  pity  that  he  had  not 
married  Susie  Warren.  She  would  have  known  how 
to  open  up  the  house ! 


184  The  Heart's  Justice 

"The  ceiling  in  this  room  was  only  seven  feet  from 
the  floor.  .  .  ." 

Muffet  followed  with  Messrs.  Alfeus  Willoughby  and 
John  D.  Haverhill,  two  gentlemen  who  found  her  more 
interesting  than  the  woodwork.  She  had  caught  up 
the  cat  Nicodemus  in  her  arms,  all  muscle  and  tiger 
stripings,  and  was  retailing  for  them  the  story  of  his 
maraudings.  She  said  that  he  had  lost  one  ear  in  a 
battle  that  went  on  all  night  and  that  next  day  there 
was  a  warrant  out  for  his  arrest.  Then,  releasing  him, 
she  bade  them  admire  the  huge  silver  loving  cup,  the 
wedding  gift  of  the  factory  hands,  now  enshrined  on 
the  mantel.  Although  Vannie,  her  servant,  had  figured 
out  it  would  need  fifty-two  polishings  to  the  year  she 
was  committed  to  its  service.  The  light  tone  of  her 
chatter  was  distinct  and  mellow  beneath  the  heavy- 
treading  voices  of  Rolf  and  the  women.  The  person 
of  Mr.  Alfeus  Willoughby  who  measured  a  yard  and 
three  quarters  around  his  waist  and  tapered  to  the 
shoulders,  'was  agitated  in  gelatinous  mirth.  Mr.  John 
D.  Haverhill,  though  slight,  like  a  herring,  found  her 
humor  entirely  successful.  Muffet' s  beauty  was  legend- 
ary and  stirred  their  imaginations,  grown  solid  with 
the  substantiality  of  their  wives.  She  seemed  no  more 
concerned  with  the  practical  schemes  of  housing  which 
her  husband  unfolded  than  as  though  she  lived  in  the 
grandfather  clock.  And  perhaps  this  was  well,  perhaps 
this  was  well,  they  marveled,  as  their  wives  commended 
the  butler's  pantry  and  the  really  remarkable  refriger- 
ator lurking  in  the  wall.  Muffet  winced  when  she 
perceived  that  it  was  Rolf's  intention  to  take  them 
upstairs,  and  foresaw  as  surely  that  the  fetish  of  his 
pride  being  the  house,  the  tour  of  inspection  would 
not  stand  alone.  Wedgewater  people  would  come  and 


The  Heart's  Justice  185 

they  would  all  be  herded  about  into  this  room  and  that 
while  the  story  of  reconstruction,  indecently  threadbare, 
fell  from  his  lips.  Once  she  was  able  to  take  his  arm. 

"Rolf,  must  you — must  you  take  them  upstairs?" 
But  the  instant  annoyance  of  his  eyes  flashed  out  at  her. 
His  expression  was  positively  loud,  alarming.  Why 
would  she  set  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  ambition  ? 

"Not  take  them  up  there?  Why,  it's  better  than 
downstairs." 

Muffet  was  the  last  now,  following  all  the  others, 
while  disinclination  hung  like  chains  on  her  feet.  Rolf 
was  showing  their  bedchamber  in  its  pristine  purity — 
and  over  the  shoulders  of  the  others  Muffet  was  watch- 
ing Rolf  with  a  strange  impersonal  wonder.  His 
mouth  was  a  mumble  of  words,  but  she  had  no  idea  what 
he  was  saying.  It  was  appalling  how  seldom  she  cared 
to  listen.  Her  cold,  fastidious  gaze  was  at  work  on  his 
face.  She  wondered  how  it  had  come  about  that  she 
was  precipitated  into  the  closest  relation  of  all  with 
one  whose  psychology  was  so  strange  to  her. 


IV 

"But  she  will  live  in  Wedgewater  and  after  a  time 
no  one  will  know  she  is  here,"  said  Mrs.  Alfeus  Wil- 
loughby,  as  she  undressed  that  night.  "She  doesn't 
sew,  she  doesn't  play  bridge,  she  has  evidently  no  sense 
of  social  obligation.  She  will  end  by  ruining  that  ad- 
mirable young  man." 

"Una,  well,  she  isn't  quite  like  our  girls  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, but  no  doubt  Sterling's  proud  of  her  looks 
and  her  education." 

"Her  clothes  are  simply  nothing." 


1 86  The  Heart's  Justice 

"I  can't  say  about  that,  only  it  struck  me  that  her 
face- 

"Altogether  too  pale.  She  ought  to  use  a  little 
rouge." 

"Her  smile  then."  He  toyed  with  a  suspender.  "You 
women  are  queer.  It  seemed  to  me  she  was  a  particu- 
larly attractive  little  thing,  with  a  very  pretty  little 
figure " 

"Alfeus!" 

"Yes,  I  know  I  ought  to  be  ashamed.  .  .  ." 
Sighing,  he  turned  out  the  light. 

And  in  the  house  on  Wedgewater  Road  Rolf,  in  his 
triumphal  peregrinations  about  his  room,  paused  beside 
a  little  informal  figure  that  was  combing  her  hair,  and 
said,  persuasively, 

"But  I  do  think  you  might  take  up  bridge." 


Chapter  XVIII 


TWO  months,  eight  weeks,  sixty-odd  days.  But 
granted  that  one  lives  to  a  moderate  middle-age, 
what  are  sixty  days?  Thus  Muffet,  toiling  in 
her  thoughts.  Rolf's  friends,  Rolfs  vanity,  Rolfs  po- 
sition seemed  heaped  upon  her  and  underneath  them 
all  she  struggled  sickly  or  lay  quiet  when  some  par- 
ticularly oppressive  timber  tied  her  limbs.  She  would 
have  liked  to  talk  to  her  father  but  there  were  strong 
reasons  in  the  way  of  it.  It  would  make  her  position 
between  the  two  untenable  were  she  to  solicit  her 
father's  sympathy.  Instead  she  sought  David's  pres- 
ence like  an  animal  that  knows  unerringly  the  remedial 
herb,  drooping  in  at  the  shop  while  he  puttered  at  his 
experimental  work  or  catching  gratefully  at  the  first 
overture  of  affection,  but  always  silent,  simulating 
happiness.  How  could  she  tell  her  father  that  differ- 
ing as  she  and  Rolf  did  on  every  subject  love  between 
them  was  the  greatest  incongruity?  The  spectacle  of 
Rolf,  crazed  with  disappointment,  yet  holding  her 
literally  to  the  letter  of  her  bargain,  was  a  terrible  one. 
The  grotesquerie  of  the  effort  turned  her  ill.  If  only 
he  would  show  the  least  sign  of  a  sensitive  intelligence ! 
"If  we  disagree  on  everything  else  we'll  still  agree 
that  we  love  each  other,"  was  his  dogged  statement  after 
any  passage-at-anns. 

187 


1 88  The  Heart's  Justice 

It  was  David  who  searched  her  eyes  but  whose  fears 
stopped  just  short  of  a  question.  Muffet,  acutely 
aware  of  what  he  would  ask,  stopped  just  short  of  an 
answer. 


Rolf  was  showing  Muffet  his  office.  It  was  near 
closing  time  and  already  the  staff  of  clerks  and  sten- 
ographers were  filing  papers  for  the  day,  showing  signs 
of  relaxation,  putting  their  typewriters  to  bed.  They 
had  the  more  leisure  for  observing  the  new  Mrs.  Ster- 
ling, slight  in  a  fall  suit  of  tweed,  with  a  hat  soft  as 
kitten  fur  and  a  scarf  of  silk  knotted  about  her  throat. 
Though  she  was  used  now  to  being  one  of  "a  pair",  the 
dubious  object  of  envy,  her  eyes  were  shy  before  the 
half -bold  appraising  looks  of  Rolf's  young  men,  the 
irrepressibly  curious  glances  of  the  girls.  Rolf,  square- 
shouldered  and  unimpeachable,  breezed  pleasure,  and 
blew  her  like  a  healthy  wind  into  his  private  sanctum, 
thereby  cheating  the  interest  of  the  office  or  giving  it 
time  to  accumulate  and  sort  its  ideas. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  kissing  her  for  satisfaction, 
"this  is  where  I  work.  This  is  where  your  husband 
picks  up  the  pennies  to  buy  you  pretty  things,"  and 
he  fingered  the  fine  silk  of  her  scarf  significantly. 

"Do  you  like  it  ?"  she  asked  with  a  narrow  smile. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Dull  things  haven't  much  dash. 
You're  too  young  to  dress  so  modestly ;  wait  till  you're 
a  dignified  matron  for  that."  Then  giving  her  another 
conversational  kiss,  he  went  off  at  a  tangent  of  exploita- 
tion, "This  is  my  desk.  Nice,  isn't  it?  The  best  ma- 
hogany that  can  be  bought.  .  .  .  And  here  is  where 
my  secretary  sits  .  .  .  and  those  are  my  files. 


The  Heart's  Justice  189 

Come  and  look  out  of  the  window  and  see  what  you 
see." 

She  came  and  he  found  it  necessary  to  drop  his  hands 
on  her  shoulders,  to  turn  her  this  way  and  that  as 
though  she  were  on  a  pivot. 

"I  have  a  view  of  practically  the  whole  plant  from 
this  window,  as  well  as  the  water  front.  And  that's  what 
I  like,  to  see  the  whole  thing  spread  out  and  to  be 
responsible  for  it." 

She  interrupted  tensely, 

"Is  that  the  building  where  my  father  is?" 

"With  the  flat  roof,  yes." 

She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth  and  her  teeth 
worried  the  thin  edge  of  it  excitedly. 

"Just  think,  I've  never  even  seen  it  before  .  .  . 
and  that's  where  my  father  has  been  serving  his  prison 
term  of  life.  It  looks  very  hot  and  hemmed  in  and  oh, 
grim !" 

"He  doesn't  have  to  stay  there,"  said  Rolf  wrath- 
fully,  "though  you  must  realize  he's  at  an  age  where 
it  would  be  difficult  for  him  to  take  up  anything  new. 
I've  told  him,  I've  told  him  repeatedly  I'd  be  willing 
to  make  any  change,  but  he's  such  a  groover  that  I  can't 
do  anything  for  him." 

She  wheeled  about,  the  same  irrational  excitement 
in  her  face,  her  eyes  cold  and  brilliant. 

"No,  you  couldn't  do  anything  for  him,"  she  laughed 
ambiguously,  and  her  laughter  went  over  Rolf  like 
prickles.  "He's  given  his  life  for  an  idea — he's  one 
of  the  martyrs  of  science,  my  father."  Her  voice  went 
up  the  scale  with  thrilling  timbre  before  it  dropped  a 
sheer  octave  back.  "Let's  go  home." 

Again  they  ran  the  gamut  of  eyes  till  presently  Rolf 
was  helping  her  into  the  car,  a  new  enclosed  one  for 


190  The  Heart's  Justice 

the  coming  winter.  Now  the  early  September  day  was 
fraying,  the  factory  disgorged  many  workers.  The 
human  tide  of  them  flowed  down  the  road  like  a  black 
river,  no  faces  of  importance  or  else  all  their  faces  had 
been  obliterated  by  the  dust  of  toil:  they  were  but 
bodies  animated  by  the  one  idea  of  getting  home.  And 
as  the  smart  motor  went  honking  through  them,  with  a 
little  shock,  Muffet  recognized  her  father,  pressing 
along  in  his  tired  clothes,  in  no  way  distinguished  from 
the  others.  And  though  she,  of  course,  knew  that  he 
walked  to  and  from  the  factory  each  day  every  nerve 
in  her  body  was  stung  to  rebellion. 

"Rolf,"  she  whispered,  almost  with  a  moan  of  pain, 
"Father.  .  .  .  We  passed  him.  .  .  ." 

"I'll  stop,"  said  Rolf,  "I  didn't  see  him."  And  then 
Muffet  said  an  odd  thing.  She  said, 

"No,  don't  stop,"  feeling  that  the  condescension  of 
the  act  would  kill  her.  "Don't  stop,"  she  reiterated 
wildly,  "drive  on,  drive  on !" 

"But  I  don't  understand  you,"  floundered  Rolf  when 
they  were  out  in  the  country,  "surely  you  know  I'd 
bring  your  father  home  every  day  only  we  never  happen 
to  get  through  at  the  same  time.  And  in  the  morn- 
ing " 


"Yes,  I  know,  he  leaves  early " 

Muffet's  hands  were  locked  in  pride  and  pain. 

"Rolf,"  she  wrenched  out,  "you've  always  said  you'd 
like  me  to  learn  to  drive.  Would  you — would  you 
give  me  a  little  car  of  my  own  ?" 

He  was  flattered  by  the  request;  it  was  so  seldom 
that  his  gifts  had  meaning  for  her. 

"You  just  bet  I  would." 

"Oh,  Rolf,"  she  said,  shamefacedly  in  gratitude,  "it 


The  Heart's  Justice  191 

would  make  me  very  happy.     Then  I  could  take  him 
back  and  forth  myself." 

"Hm,  I  suppose  you  could.     But  wouldn't  people 
wonder  why  you  weren't  driving  your  husband?" 


m 

The  wounds  which  Rolf,  in  his  love,  was  slated  to 
receive  were  the  more  malignant  because  unconsciously 
inflicted.  An  evening  in  September  he  attended  a 
meeting  of  the  local  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  was 
late  in  getting  home.  As  he  came  up  the  path,  after  lock- 
ing his  car  in  the  garage,  he  saw  Muffet  keeping  close 
vigil  at  an  upstairs  window.  He  had  begrudged  the 
time  away  from  her  but  he  had  not  really  known  how 
real  was  the  deprivation  till  he  saw  her  face  against 
the  pane  and  formed  the  savory  conclusion  that  she  was 
waiting  up  for  him.  On  such  infrequent  crumbs  was 
he  wont  to  subsist.  Immediately  the  door  closed  came 
her  winged  feet  across  the  upper  hall,  the  excitement 
of  her  slippers  on  the  stair.  Like  an  angel  in  exulta- 
tion she  plunged  into  the  limbo  of  the  darkness  below 
and  came  face  to  face  with  Rolf,  Rolf  warm  in  the 
faith  of  his  welcome.  He  held  out  his  arms  with  the 
sterotyped  gesture. 

"Muffet,"  he  exclaimed  in  the  variegated  tone  of 
extreme  pleasure,  and  Muffet  obeyed  the  mandate  of 
his  arms  in  dazed  discipline,  but  not  before  the  hesi- 
tation of  a  second  had  betrayed  her. 

Rolf  was  apprised  of  her  mistake  and  his  pleasure 
crumbled  cruelly. 

"You  thought  it  was  your  father  all  the  time  .  .  . 
you  thought  it  was  your  father."  He  doubled  the 


192  The  Heart's  Justice 

statement,  making  it  first  an  accusation,  then  an  ex- 
planation, as  made  to  himself.  He  knew  now  why  her 
face  had  been  at  the  window  worrying  the  dark. 

Muffet  stood  agonizing  in  guilt,  tremulous  with  con- 
trition. She  offered  the  shy  amends  of  a  kiss  on  the 
cheek,  she  even  replaced  his  arm  that  he  had  let  slip 
from  her,  but  it  was  all  no  good. 

"Oh,  Rolf,"  she  pleaded  hopefully,  yet  hopelessly, 
"it  was  just  that  father  went  to  Elijah's  and  I'm  always 
expecting  he  will  get  run  over  on  the  way  home." 

Kolf  was  rigid,  his  piping  pride  all  out  of  tune.  He 
revolved  his  grievances  in  his  mind  and  reduced  the 
remedy  to  terms  of  concerted  action. 

"See  here,"  he  burst  out  harshly,  "this  won't  do  at 
all.  I  tell  you  frankly  we're  beginning  all  wrong.  Are 
we  any  different  from  any  other  man  and  woman? 
You've  got  to  put  me  first  and  keep  me  first,  do  you 
understand  ?" 

"How  do  you  mean,  Eolf  ?" 

"You've  got  to  show  me  the  preference  over  every 
one."  The  naivete  of  the  command  was  pitiful.  "I 
tell  you  I  won't  be  slighted." 

"Oh,  Rolf,"  she  said  half  weeping,  "you're  never 
that.  You  have  everything  your  own  way." 

"All  except  my  life  with  you,"  he  said  grimly.  "But 
I'll  have  this  the  way  it  suits  me  too !" 

The  light  from  above,  streaming  down  the  stair, 
described  his  face  as  livid.  To  Muffet  it  was  foreign  in 
its  crudeness — it  wasn't  the  face  of  a  man  going  about 
love.  She  felt  sorry  for  the  uncouth  figure  he  cut  in 
his  wooing.  At  the  same  time  it  turned  her  cold  and 
constricted. 

"What  would  you  like  me  to  do  ?" 

"I'd  like  you  to  count  me  first  in  your  consideration, 


The  Heart's  Justice  193 

to  remember  that  you  belong  to  me,  waking  or  sleeping, 
waking  or  sleeping,  do  you  hear  ?" 

Something  in  the  phrase  struck  her,  set  up  a  vibra- 
tion in  her  cramped  mind,  a  vista  of  escape.  Her  pale 
face  took  on  a  bright,  almost  an  unearthly  look. 

"Ah,  waking  perhaps,"  she  said  with  faint  mockery, 
"but  sleeping — it's  too  much  to  think  you  can  have 
dominion  over  me  there."  Then,  with  rising  tempest, 
"Love  isn't  to  be  commanded,  no  matter  what  any  one 
says — love  can  only  be  coaxed.  And  mine  for  you  has 
never  been  given  a  chance.  Don't  you  think  it's  un- 
reasonable for  you  to  fly  into  a  temper  just  because 
the  seed  you  planted  wrong  refused  to  grow  ?" 

"Stop  talking,"  he  interrupted,,  furious  with  the 
pain  that  she  gave  him,  "I  don't  want  your  words!" 
And  he  set  his  kisses  to  obliterate  them,  darkly  to 
stamp  out  her  rebel  thoughts  that  flared  like  stars. 

He  fought  her  with  kisses  while  dark  in  the  smother 
of  his  will  she  died  and  died  and  died.  .  .  . 


IV 

Paradoxically,  Rolf  was  capable  of  the  humblest 
reverence  when  he  saw  his  wife  sleeping,  when  fatigue 
had  taken  her,  inhibitions  and  all.  His  throat  ached 
over  the  childishness  of  her  face,  the  pathos  of  her 
relaxed  limbs.  He  would  draw  the  coverlet  closely 
about  her  shoulders  with  hands  the  more  tender  for 
their  clumsiness  and  would  tell  himself  that  sleeping 
she  offered*  no  slights  to  his  sense  of  possession,  they 
were  truly  at  one. 

Great  then  was  his  panic  in  the  hour  before  dawn 
to  waken  and  find  that  she  was  not  beside  him.  The 


194  The  Heart's  Justice 

pillow  where  her  head  had  lain  sustained  its  litt'lw 
hollow;  he  fancied  the  sheet  yet  warm  from  her  body. 
But  Muffet  had  fled.  Scarcely  free  from  the  toils  of 
sleep,  he  was  desolated  as  in  a  nightmare.  The  thought 
stole  sickly  through  his  head  that  she  had  deserted  him. 
But  gradually  as  he  lost  his  lassitude  his  usual  common 
sense  asserted  itself.  He  rose  in  the  chill  room,  scuffed 
into  his  slippers  and  donned  a  bath-robe.  Telling 
himself  that  she  could  not  have  gone  far,  he  went  shuf- 
fling out  into  the  hall  and  made  a  tour  of  the  bedrooms. 
"Muffet,"  he  made  vocal  his  search  in  an  enormous 
whisper,  then,  his  trouble  increasing,  he  lost  regard 
for  the  other  sleepers  in  the  house.  "Muffet,  where 
are  you,  Sweetheart  ?  Come  back  to  bed."  No  answer. 

David  slept  soundly  after  his  exertions  at  the  factory. 
Rolf  thrust  open  the  door  and  peered  into  the  room. 
The  moon  had  risen  after  midnight  and  now  revealed 
every  corner  of  it.  He  saw  his  father-in-law  sleeping 
on  his  pillow  and  from  his  regular  breathing  it  was 
apparent  that  he  had  not  been  disturbed.  His  un- 
easiness now  took  definite  form.  Vannie's  quarters 
were  in  a  wing  of  the  house  that  had  no  access  from 
the  second  storey  and  Muffet  would  scarcely  have  gone 
there.  As  he  hesitated  in  his  bewilderment  his  hand 
fell  on  the  gate  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  Slowly  his 
mind  worked  back  to  the  incident  with  which  he  con- 
nected it.  It  was  the  occasion  of  his  second  visit  to 
the  house  a  year  ago  and  Rolf's  query  anent  the  gate. 
"It  was  put  there  years  ago  when  we  discovered  that  she 
was  walking  in  her  sleep !"  Harlow  had  said. 

The  gooseflesh  climbed  Rolf's  arm.  At  the  same 
instant  he  became  aware  of  a  draught  blowing  straight 
up  the  stairs, — the  door  below  was  open  to  the  night! 
Though  the  hour  was  cold  he  was  suddenly  bathed  iu 


The  Heart's  Justice  195 

perspiration.  Swiftly  he  passed  down  the  stairs  and 
out  into  the  blue  autumnal  mists  that  lay  about  the 
house  like  long  ribbons  spun  on  a  ghost  loom.  The 
moon  was  phosphorescent  in  the  tangle  and  ruin  of  the 
late  garden.  All  the  milky  heavens  seemed  to  have 
fallen  in  a  leprous  tryst  with  the  earth.  Silence  pre- 
vailed, too  profound  to  be  natural,  unbroken  by  the 
stir  of  a  leaf  or  the  tick  of  a  bird.  It  was  as  though 
the  isolated  hour  had  been  reserved  for  the  benefit  of 
some  spirit  host  suppressed  by  day.  Though  he  was 
not  a  fanciful  man,  he  felt  alien,  a  trespasser,  as  he 
moved  through  the  liquid  silver  of  the  grass  and  parted 
the  prowling  mists.  The  cold  dew  fell  on  his  bare 
feet,  only  partially  encased  in  bath  slippers.  He  did 
not  know  this  garden  of  dew-frosted  plants,  stiff  as 
stalactites.  No  one  was  awake  in  the  world  and  his 
heart  ached  with  fear  and  loneliness.  No  one  was 
awake,  not  even  Muffet.  She  was  as  freighted  with 
sleep  as  the  stiff  silver  flowers.  ....  She  was  mov- 
ing somewhere  in  the  strangeness  with  her  small,  bare 
feet  cold  as  wet  marble.  His  terror  found  him  im- 
potent. What  if  she  had  wandered  off  down  the  road 
or  toward  the  harbor  a  half  mile  away  ?  He  had  heard 
tragic  tales  of  somnambulists,  and  the  dangerous  haunts 
into  which  their  drugged  minds  led  them.  Where 
should  he  begin  to  look  for  her  in  all  the  fantastically 
wreathed  and  garlanded  world? 

Adjoining  the  garden  was  an  apple  orchard  of  crotch- 
etty  trees  and  there,  ineffably  wraith-like  in  the  moon- 
light, he  presently  saw  her.  He  almost  cried  out  in 
his  relief  as  he  hurried  through  the  plants  and  bushes 
which  seemed  to  snarl  and  snap  at  him  with  a  thou- 
sand little  briars  to  catch  at  his  ankles.  Seeking  the 
shortest  way  to  her  he  scarcely  heeded  that  he  was 


196  The  Heart's  Justice 

struggling  in  a  snare  of  raspberry  vines;  already  his 
flesh  was  bleeding.  He  knew  only  that  Muffet,  like 
mad  Ophelia,  was  wandering  in  the  orchard,  her  thick 
hair  cloudy  on  her  shoulders,  her  white  night  dress 
and  her  bare  arms  and  shoulders  shining  as  alabaster. 
When  he  was  close  enough  he  perceived  to  his  con- 
sternation that  her  eyes  were  open,  but  wide  with  an 
unseeing  vision.  Her  lips  were  blue  and  pinched  in 
her  distressing  dream ;  she  made  short,  irregular  sounds 
of  sobbing.  And  suddenly,  in  a  vivid  flash,  Eolf  re- 
membered their  conversation  of  the  evening  before,  how 
he  had  said  that  waking  or  sleeping  she  belonged  to 
him  and  she  had  answered,  "Ah,  waking  perhaps  but 
sleeping — you  can  have  no  dominion  over  me  there. 
.  .  ."  Had  that  thought,  registered  on  her  sub- 
conscious mind,  led  her  in  dreams  to  seek  escape  from 
him?  The  idea  was  intolerable  but  relentless  in  its 
plausibility. 

Even  while  he  pondered  what  course  to  take  she 
moved  swiftly  and  smoothly  out  of  the  orchard  and  into 
the  garden.  She  moved  with  incredible  lightness  and 
rapidity,  sobbing  softly  the  while.  He  followed  as 
closely  as  he  dared  and  divined  that  she  was  making 
her  way  back  to  the  house.  He  hoped,  he  longed  to 
believe  that  the  sleeping-walking  was  not  necessarily 
symbolic,  that  she  would  return  to  their  room  and  go 
to  bed.  But  no.  She  entered  the  house  as  she  had  left 
it  and  glided  smoothly  up  the  stairs,  her  slender  figure 
erect  and  animated  by  some  sure  purpose.  Without 
a  moment's  hesitation  she  entered  the  accustomed  room 
of  her  childhood,  not  the  room  that  she  had  shared  with 
Rolf.  She  went  straight  to  the  bed  and  climbing  upon 
it  lay  supine,  gently  weeping  and  sobbing  her  veiled, 
mysterious  grief.  .  .  .  He  would  have  believed  her  to 


The  Heart's  Justice  197 

be  awake  had  he  not  known  that  those  thin  tears  and 
faint  sobs  could  be  only  the  expression  of  a  dream. 

He  sank  exhaustedlj  into  a  chair  beside  the  bed, 
steeled  to  meet  a  second  visitation  of  the  truth.  It 
was  because  the  room  signified  her  lost  girlhood  that 
she  had  returned  to  it.  Oh  intolerable!  He  recalled 
how  she  had  said,  "You  can't  command  love,"  and  he 
had  answered  with  brutality,  "I  don't  want  your 
words."  Poor  childish  heart,  rudely  handled,  lost 
among  lonely,  inanimate  things.  Though  her  action 
was  but  the  license  of  a  dream  he  never  thought  of 
doubting  it.  It  was  to  him  as  though  Providence  had 
divorced  them.  .  .  . 

Muffet  was  quiet  now,  lapsing  into  normal  slumber. 
Rolf  found  a  great  comforter  to  spread  over  her  and 
tucked  it  in  about  her  as  best  he  could.  Then  he  went 
back  to  his  own  room  and  threw  himself  across  the  bed 
in  the  jeopardy  of  his  shame. 

"Oh,  God,  God  Almighty.     .     .     ." 


Chapter  XIX 


AUTUMN  and  the  "ghost  boats  whisper  on  the 
shore."  The  maples  have  cast  their  sallow 
leaves  on  the  harbor  waters  and  long  drifts  of 
the  strange  confetti  will  go  out  to  sea.  The  little  town 
lies  windlessly  still  beneath  the  arched  and  fitted  sky. 
Hundreds  of  white  boats  have  come  home  from  their 
straying  like  sheep,  and  huddle  dumbly  about  the 
queer,  stilted  wharves.  Gardens  run  back  from  the 
wharves,  utilitarian  or  disbanded,  now  alike  riotous 
in  rust  and  gold,  and  above  the  gardens  the  intricate 
mesh  of  clothes  lines  hang  buoyantly  bannered.  The 
ground  is  covered  in  wispy  shadows  that  change  when 
the  wind  stirs.  Out-of-door  people  are  sensitive  to  the 
significance  of  the  rust  and  gold.  Indoor  people  think 
only  that  fires  must  be  lighted  earlier  in  the  morning, 
and  nursed  through  the  day  against  the  chilly  evenings. 
Elijah  Moore,  trudging  his  beaten  dog-track  to  and. 
from  the  factory,  has  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  the 
evolution  of  the  seasons.  He  is  fond«of  believing  that 
he  is  a  practical  business  man,  though  the  word 
"dodderer,"  conceived  the  way  a  match  is  lighted  be- 
hind a  shielding  had,  has  often  been  applied  to  him. 
Elijah's  phlegmatic  nature  is  occupied  at  present  with 
but  one  acute  concern.  He  is  furiously  hopeful  that 

198 


The  Heart's  Justice  199 

his  letter  to  the  woman  of  mystery  will  not  bring  forth 
a  reply.  He  has  survived  a  month  in  safety  and  yet  his 
anxiety  still  smolders  to  the  extent  that  he  casts  a  sur- 
reptitious eye  over  the  daily  letters  on  the  floor  before 
he  stoops  to  pick  them  up.  "It's  reasonably  certain 
that  she  won't  write — now,"  he  argues  ticklishly.  "A 
favor  asked,  a  favor  received  .  .  .  but  to  pre' 
sume  further.  ~No,  she  could  certainly  not  do  that." 

But  that  was  exactly  what  the  creature  did.  Elijah 
knew  that  envelope  of  sentimental  gray,  he  knew  that 
chirography  damnably,  and  he  told  himself  that  by  his 
dread  he  had  no  doubt  invited  the  catastrophe.  It  lay 
among  the  ordinary  missives  in  demure  sobriety  yet  he 
touched  it  and  his  fingers  burned;  he  felt  the  feverish 
chills  racing  up  and  down  his  spine.  His  heart  was 
a  misplaced  organ  beating  in  his  throat.  He  told  him- 
self, even  before  he  read,  that  he  hadn't  deserved  to 
be  implicated  in  this  red,  riotous  affair  of  the  Harlows. 
Dave  was  his  friend,  he  championed  Dave — and  any- 
way the  case  was  clearly  enough  against  the  woman 
who  now  called  herself  Mrs.  Burchard.  As  far  as 
Wedgewater  was  concerned  she  had  been  dead  these 
many  years.  Why  would  she  not  stay  decently  interred 
and  not  parade  her  live  handwriting  to  substantiate 
the  fact  of  her  existence.  Elijah  was  resentful  of  his 
own  guilt.  He  had  done  only  what  was  civil  and  now 
from  the  facile  act  of  writing  him  she  implied  com- 
plicity. In  what  crime?  He  did  not  exactly  know. 
But  he  saw  that  the  letter  was  long  and  set  to  the  task 
of  reading  it,  with  eyes  so  dizzy  they  could  scarcely 
focus  on  a  word.  Before  she  had  addressed  him  as 
"Dear  Mr.  Moore."  Now,  for  no  reason  at  all  she 
began: 


2OO  The  Heart's  Justice 

"My  DEAB  ELIJAH: — 

"Your  kindness  in  writing  me  a  month  ago  touched 
me  very  deeply.  (He  grumbled  that  he  had  not  in- 
tended to  be  kind.)  And,  though  you  may  not  believe 
it,  that  brief  letter,  telling  me  in  formal  terms  of  what 
I  wished  to  know,  has  become  a  most  precious  link,  a 
veritable  human  document,  connecting  me  with  my 
lost  home. 

"Yes,  Elijah,  since  we  are,  I  remember,  approxi- 
mately the  same  age  (he  knew  her  to  be  ten  years  his 
junior)  we  must  have  learned  approximately  the  same 
lessons, — bromidic  in  a  sense,  but  unalterably  true — 
the  old  things  stand — home,  the  security  of  goodness, 
the  ties  of  love.  But  goodness  to  the  transgressor  exer- 
cises its  prerogative — goodness  to  the  transgressor  is 
hard.  It  admits  of  no  possibility  of  repentance,  no  dis- 
covery of  a  sense  of  values.  Goodness  houses  itself 
securely,  and  locks  the  door  in  order  to  stay  intact. 
I  am  not  presuming  to  play  the  injured  because  I  know 
(and  my  former  friends  would  agree  with  enthusiasm) 
that  I  never  deserved  the  husband  I  had  nor  to  have 
been  the  mother  of  so  angelic  a  child. 

"I  perceive,  of  course,  that  children  come  from 
angels,  must  live  on  angel  cake  and  have  their  hands 
and  faces  and  frocks  kept  clean.  They  must  never  eat 
coarse  bread  nor  suffer  contamination.  My  husband, 
according  to  his  lights,  was  entirely  right.  In  order 
that  the  name  of  Harlow  might  be  protected  I  have 
adopted  another. 

"Nevertheless,  Elijah,  to  a  person  of  broad  sympa- 
thies like  yourself — ['Come  now,'  protested  Elijah  and 
weighed  the  phrase  for  flattery.  Was  she  trying  her 
feminine  wiles  on  him?  .  .  .  Hm,  well  he  hoped 
he  was  a  man  of  sympathies :  he'd  always  tried  to  be — 


The  Heart's  Justice  201 

why  could  he  not  accept  the  tribute  in  fair  faith?] — to 
a  person  of  broad  sympathies  like  yourself  it  will  be 
apparent  that  retribution  must  come  to  an  end  some- 
time. Sinners  are  not  grilled  forever.  ['No/  thought 
Elijah,  reasonably  appealed  to,  'that's  right  enough.'] 
It's  even  possible  (continued  Mrs.  Burchard)  that  they 
don't  deserve  to  be.  I  am  alone  in  the  world. 
['Heavens/  he  thought  nervously,  'does  she  know  that 
I'm  a  widower?']  I  am  alone  in  the  world.  I  have 
been  alone  now  for  many  years.  I  live  among  strangers 
and  fair-weather  friends.  I  find  my  one  justification 
for  life  in  the  occasional  good  that  I  am  able  to  do. 
I  could,  of  course,  take  up  some  line  of  work  but  it 
would  not  suit  me.  I  believe  in  each  person  following 
his  or  her  metier.  What  a  pity  that  mine  should  be 
idle  femininity!  [Yes,  she  was  feminine.  Elijah 
put  his  head  in  a  cloud  and  was  guiltily  refreshed  by 
the  fragrance  of 'jasmine.] 

"Since  I  am  certain  that  not  even  you,  his  closest 
friend,  enjoy  the  confidence  of  David,  I  feel  that  you 
can  appreciate  the  more  the  difficulty  of  appealing  to 
him.  What  I  have  pondered  is  a  way  of  approaching 
him  personally.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  if  I  might  re- 
turn to  Wedgewater  where  I  am  no  longer  known  and 
take  a  little  house  there,  gradually  by  dint  of 
patience " 

At  this  point  in  his  reading  Elijah  was  on  his  feet. 
"No,"  he  cried  aloud  fearfully.  "It's  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. You  can't  come  back  into  their  lives.  They've 
gone  on  without  you.  You  can't  come  back,  I  tell  you." 
His  lower  lip  curled  like  that  of  a  child  about  to  cry. 
"You  sinful  woman!"  and  he  went  on  repeating  the 
epithet  till  he  was  arrested  by  the  raw  sound  of  it. 


2O2  The  Heart's  Justice 

People  no  longer  indulged  in  invective;  it  was  con- 
sidered archaic  to  do  so ;  it  was  an  age  of  tolerance. 

But  instead,  working  himself  into  argumentative 
frenzy,  he  dove  for  his  pen  and  set  down  his  reply 
fragmentarily,  as  it  came  to  him.  But  most  of  the 
time  he  was  walking  the  floor,  combing  his  brains  and 
flipping  his  coat-tails  straight  out  behind  him.  His 
scant  mustaches  bristled  like  the  antennae  of  an  insect. 
From  the  arbitrary  assertion  that  the  course  she  pro- 
posed would  never  do,  he  explored  all  the  by-paths  of 
reasons  and  found  them  too  numerous  to  record.  So 
his  conclusion  stood  like  that, — it  would  not  do  because 
it  would  not  do !  And  if  she  thought  for  a  minute  that 
merely  by  spreading  a  net  of  flattery  she  could  ensnare 
him  for  her  purpose —  He  presently  changed  to,  if 
any  woman  thought —  He  assumed  an  attitude — as 
though  awaiting  the  onslaught  of  a  world  of  wily 
women,  cajoling  and  attitudinizing.  He  felt  himself 
a  redoubtable  man  of  the  world,  on  guard  against  all 
potential  dangers,  vanquishing  them  with  an  easy  tip- 
tilted  smile. 

But  the  immense  mood  was  transient  and  by  supper- 
time  Elijah  had  gone  flabby  again  in  the  octopus  toils 
of  his  many  fears.  His  perturbation  was  remarked 
almost  immediately  by  Hannah,  his  housekeeper,  and 
efficient  and  unfeminine  woman. 

In  his  modicum  of  life  Elijah  had  been  associated 
with  no  creature  of  the  opposite  sex  that  might  be 
termed  "a  petticoat";  he  had  never  known  the  luxury 
of  a  soft,  clinging  nature  twined  about  the  support 
of  his  own;  he  had  never  known  the  delicious  trial  of 
trying  to  understand  one.  There  had  been  Sarah,  his 
wife,  dead  these  many  years,  but  Sarah  was  hardly  dif- 
ferent from  a  man,  angular  in  form  and  able  in  nature, 


The  Heart's  Justice  203 

faithful  and  unlovely.  Their  married  life  had  ex- 
tended over  a  period  of  twenty  years  and  the  paucity 
of  the  experience  had  left  him  little  to  remember.  She 
had  dominated  the  weaker  will  of  Elijah  and  molded 
it  assiduously  in  the  way  it  should  go.  She  had  never 
permitted  his  mind  to  recreate  in  frivolous  ways,  nor 
his  imagination  to  build.  Always  she  had  watched 
him  with  her  cold  black  eyes  that  seemed  to  veil  in 
their  licorice  depths  suspicion  and  ridicule. 

Before  she  died  she  sent  for  her  eldest  sister,  a 
spinster,  then  living  at  home,  and  "Hannah  will  look 
after  you,  Elijah,"  she  said. 

Hannah  had  a  limited  income  and  a  single  bed  which 
she  promptly  brought  and  set  up  in  the  room  over  the 
kitchen  in  her  sister's  impeccable  house,  and  she 
was  there  in  Wedgewater  as  the  weather  was  there 
— for  good.  Elijah  never  thought  of  trying  to  dis- 
lodge her;  he  even  saw  in  his  soul  the  meanness  of 
his  dissatisfaction  since  Hannah  was  a  perfect  cook 
as  Sarah  had  been  and  thrifty  with  the  accounts  and 
faithful.  She  was  a  large  woman  with  a  prominent 
bosom,  and  a  dark,  secretive  face.  Her  hair  was  extra- 
ordinarily fine  and  wispy  like  an  infant's  hair  and 
when  she  brushed  it  into  a  knot  on  her  head  it  seemed 
that  most  of  it  escaped  and  hung  down,  giving  her  an 
untidy  appearance.  Yet  she  was  not  untidy ;  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  deserve  the  reproach.  Her  face 
too  was  downy  and  dark  and  her  mind  lived  behind  it 
inscrutably,  intent  on  formulae  for  pleasure  and  toil 
which  it  never  divulged. 

She  and  Elijah  were  never  on  terms  of  intimacy;  she 
was  furiously  inhibited  by  propriety !  He  thought  that 
from  the  first  she  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  talk, 
and  regretted  that  it  should  be  so,  since  the  evenings 


204  The  Heart's  Justice 

were  long  and  lonely  and  meals  so  nothing-at-all  as  far 
as  their  social  side  went. 

Yet  whereas  Elijah  knew  nothing  of  Hannah, 
Hannah  knew  all  about  Elijah.  She  was  accustomed 
to  observe  him,  analyze  his  thoughts  and  to  speculate 
on  the  probable  reasons  for  his  actions.  And  the  night 
of  the  letter,  she  knew  immediately  that  something 
was  amiss. 

He  sat  down  to  the  table  and  instead  of  taking  up  his 
own  napkin  which  was  in  a  tortoise  shell  ring,  marked 
"Ausable  Chasm,"  he  reached  for  hers,  always  in  a 
circle  of  sweet  grass  woven  with  splints — unmistakable. 

"Why,"  said  Hannah,  affronted,  "you  have  mine," 
and, 

"So  I  have,"  answered  Elijah,  and  handed  it  back 
to  her.  No  apologies.  Nothing. 

She  shot  him  a  glance  of  thorough  curiosity  but  his 
small,  mild  face  bore  no  mark  of  stress  other  than  the 
pink  color  in  his  cheeks  which  might  well  be  attribut- 
able to  the  afternoon  wind.  She  was  just  settling  down 
to  relinquish  her  doubts  when  the  second  unordinary 
incident  occurred. 

"Beans  ?"  she  queried,  serving  him,  but  the  question 
was  merely  perfunctory.  The  Saturday  menu  was  an 
institution.  But  to-night  he  said  in  an  abstract  voice, 

"No  beans." 

The  words  were  distinctly  pronounced  but  Hannah 
strained  at  him  across  the  table  as  though  he  had  gone 
mad.  She  had  shrillness  in  the  back  of  her  brain  even 
before  she  took  him  up  angrily. 

"No  beans?" 

"No  beans." 

Clatter  went  the  spoon.  She'd  leave  it  to  any  one  if 
they  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing.  Saturday  night 


The  Heart's  Justice  205 

She  curbed  herself  in  order  that  he  might  reconsider. 
As  he  did  not  she  informed  him  in  a  voice  of  ice, 

"There's  nothing  else  for  supper.  You  know  there 
never  is  when  we  have  beans!" 

"No  ?"  He  was  gazing  at  his  hands  but  he  lifted  one 
feverish  eye.  "Well,  no  matter,  then.  .  .  .  You'll 
excuse  me,  Hannah." 

And  scraping  his  chair  from  the  table  he  went  back 
to  the  bottle  of  red  ink  and  the  scribbled  sheets  of  his 
letter,  like  a  composition  in  blood.  Later,  his  ill- 
humor  increasing,  he  was  incensed  by  the  sudden  dis- 
covery that  ever  and  anon  Hannah  would  tiptoe  into 
the  adjoining  parlor  and  spy  upon  him.  He  was  sud- 
denly awake  to  the  cross  of  Hannah,  imposed  upon 
him  by  his  dead  wife  and  borne  these  many  years  with- 
out a  murmur.  He  told  himself  that  his  wife  had  been 
within  her  province  when  she  exercised  censorship 
over  him,  but  was  it  right  that  she  should  have  left  a 
substitute  to  continue  the  vigil? 

He  saw  Hannah  watching  him  with  the  eyes  of 
Sarah.  .  .  . 

ii 

After  Elijah's  first  panic  had  subsided  and  he  had 
dispatched  his  letter  he  thought  innocently, 
"Heaven  forgive  me  if  I've  crushed  her !" 
He  wondered  constantly  if  in  defending  the  Harlows 
from  the  reopening  of  an  old  wound  his  passionate  zeal 
had  not  taken  him  too  far.     What  right  had  he,  after 
all,  to  issue  any  mandate  or  to  frost-nip  any  intention 
that  might  possibly  have  its  root  in  righteousness  ?    The 
fact  that  the  Harlows  were  not  interested  in  the  repent- 
ance of  the  one  who  had  failed  them  was  no  reason 


206  The  Heart's  Justice 

why  she  should  not  repent.  Repentance  for  Rhoda 
Burchard  was  salutary.  And  Elijah,  recalling  his  ges- 
ture of  frantic  denial,  was  a  thought  ashamed  of  it. 
At  the  very  least  he  might  believe  that  David  Harlow's 
wife  was  weary  of  her  world  and  the  meagerness  of  its 
rewards,  a  bit  terrified  no  doubt. at  the  oncreep  of  age 
and  the  bleak  isolation  which  she  foresaw  in  it. 
Proudly,  with  a  desperate  irony,  she  had  confided  in 
him.  And  what  had  he  answered  her?  Stay,  stay 
where  you  are;  we  will  have  none  of  you.  He  broke 
into  a  sweat  of  pity  when  he  thought  of  it.  Yet  he 
knew  that  as  far  as  David  was  concerned  even  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  numbered  years  would  be  immaterial 
to  move  him.  David  had  loved  her  greatly  but  that 
light  had  gone  out  years  ago.  Elijah  would  have  liked 
to  tell  David,  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  thing, 
but  in  that,  at  least,  he  was  bound  to  consider  Rhoda. 

So  he  ruminated,  and  at  last  her  answer  came.  She 
was  not  crushed;  she  was  of  the  steel  litheness  of  a 
rapier.  She  said  that  she  was  sorry  to  have  alarmed 
him;  she  would  certainly  do  nothing  drastic  without 
his  sanction.  She  said  charmingly  that  she  could  not 
take  his  message  in  bad  part  because  it  was  a  letter  from 
home ;  by  writing  her  he  made  her  a  person  en  rapport 
with  security.  She  asked  him  if  Wedgewater  people 
still  had  their  consciences  served  for  breakfast.  She 
asked  him  if  his  wife  would  object  to  their  correspond- 
ence. She  did  not  know  that  Sarah  was  dead. 


m 


Elijah's    heart,    for    very    relief,    quickened    with 
warmth.     Since  he  found  her  so  tractable  he  was  im- 


The  Heart's  Justice  207 

pelled  to  generosity.  It  could  do  no  harm,  surely,  to 
extend  the  goodfellowship  of  cheer  to  one  who  was 
obviously  finding  the  way  unfriended.  He  did  not  ap- 
prove of  her  past  conduct,  and  he  was  far  from  ex- 
tenuating it,  but  he  could  not  dismiss  her  from  his 
consideration  as  he  would  have,  say,  a  servant  for  mis- 
demeanor. Rhoda  was  a  lady  by  all  delicate  distinc- 
tions. Elijah  knew  that,  nothing  could  affect  her 
claim  to  the  title  though,  had  Sarah  been  alive,  they 
would  certainly  have  disputed  the  point.  So  he  was 
melted  into  small,  unaccustomed  courtesies  all  of  which 
appeared  in  his  reply,  like  bashful  children  dressed 
for  a  party.  And  this  time  he  had  no  occasion  to  rue 
his  hardness.  Rather  he  wondered  if  he  had  been  too 
effusive.  As  he  stumbled  inadvertently  into  correspond- 
ence with  her  he  blew  hot  and  cold.  He  was  never  quite 
satisfied  with  the  attitude  he  had  taken  as  manifested 
in  his  letters.  He  never  wholly  exonerated  himself 
of  blame  for  the  clandestine  affair.  When  he  was  with 
David  his  secret  burned  intolerably  yet  he  told  him- 
self that  by  his  common  sense  handling  of  the  danger 
he  had  really  averted  an  appalling  crisis.  Mrs.  Bur- 
chard  was  docile  to  his  doctrine.  If  she  had  yearned 
toward  a  reconciliation  with  David  she  was  delicately 
deferring  to  Elijah's  judgment  in  the  matter  of  tak- 
ing any  steps  toward  it.  In  their  correspondence  she 
showed  all  those  feminine  qualities  most  intoxcating, 
a  sly  sense  of  humor,  a  demure  submission,  a  lovely 
recklessness. 

Elijah  was  alarmed  by  what  had  happened  to  him, 
a  dry  old  fellow,  going  his  circumspect  way  and  having 
put  behind  him  for  all  time  the  savor  of  the  thing  called 
romance.  The  gray  letters  were  slipped  under  his 
door  and  brought  the  illusion  of  a  high-flavored  con- 


208  The  Heart's  Justice 

tact.  He  had  begun  tp  watch  for  them  and,  noting  his 
tension,  the  woman,  Hannah,  nodded  to  herself  sus- 
piciously. Sometimes  catching  her  at  her  deductions 
he  rumbled  with  irritability  like  a  volcano  giving  warn- 
ing. Always  Hannah  watching  him  with  the  eyes  of 
Sarah.  .  .  . 


Chapter  XX 


IT  was  December.  Elijah  Moore  stood  in  company 
with  a  black-clothed  woman  in  the  garden  of  a  small 
house  in  Wedgewater.  The  woman  was  Rhoda  Har- 
low,  and  the  house,  an  overseer's  cottage  of  a  large,  dis- 
astrous estate,  was  being  shown  by  an  agent  with  a  view 
to  renting.  This  was  Rhoda  Harlow  in  the  flesh,  this 
tall,  distinguished  woman,  shrouded  in  her  abundance 
of  veils  and  braced  against  the  blustering  day.  And 
this  was  Elijah  Moore,  minute  in  an  overcoat  tattling 
of  moth-balls,  nipped  blue  with  cold  and  rigid  for 
terror  and  apprehension.  He  could  not  have  told  how 
it  had  happened,  he  could  not  remember  the  progression 
of  their  friendship  to  the  prickly  point  out  of  which  had 
grown  her  visit  to  Wedgewater.  He  had  not  been 
conscious  of  an  influence  at  work.  Rather  he  had 
prided  himself  mannishly  on  his  neutrality,  on  the 
firmness  with  which  he  resisted  her  onslaughts.  He 
had  told  himself  throughout  the  course  of  their  corre- 
spondence that  he  made  or  withheld  concessions.  He 
felt  his  own  wiry  muscles. 

And  then,  presto,  some  change  taking  place  in  him, 
the  pen,  the  red  ink,  protesting  spasmodically,  his 
stamina  holding  up  its  hands.  She  could  not  come  and 
lie  was  permitting  her  to  do  so!  She  who  had  leaned 
like  a  lily  was  knocking  him  down!  He  pretended 
that  it  was  he  who  had  granted  her  permission  and 
clapped  the  poultice  to  his  pride.  But  in  truth  he 

209 


2io  The  Heart's  Justice 

was  demoralized  by  what  had  happened  like  one  who 
stands  guard  over  dynamite,  only  to  be  blown  up  by  it. 
This  is  not  to  affirm  that  his  trouble  was  without  the 
sly  alloy  of  bliss. 

Anticipating  her  presence  he  remembered  in  detail 
the  fascinations  which  she  had  indubitably  possessed. 
He  remembered  that  early  time  when  the  truth  was 
borne  in  upon  him, — David  Harlow's  wife  was  beauti- 
ful, his  own  was  plain!  He  remembered  how  the 
congenital  virtues  of  Sarah  had  lost  luster  in  his  eyes 
as  compared  with  the  ornamental  capriciousness  of 
Rhoda  Harlow.  And  Sarah  suspecting,  brooding  over 
her  grievance,  ferreting  out  the  frailities  of  the  un- 
stable Rhoda  and  keeping  them  on  file.  He  remem- 
bered his  own  place  in  Rhoda's  esteem  as  an  incon- 
siderable digit.  And  the  acceptance  of  her  estimate. 
a  writhing  but  submissive  mortification — for  years. 
Then  Rhoda's  overt  act  and  Sarah's  assuaged  eyes 
across  the  breakfast  table,  quite  terrible  in  their 
gloating. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?     .     .     ." 

Rhoda  had  passed  out  of  sight  in  the  cloud  of  her 
own  raising.  She  had  died  of  her  reputation  and  been 
buried  and  Elijah  had  been  bound  to  condemn  her  as 
did  all  the  others.  His  sympathies  were  entirely  with 
David  and  his  daughter.  Coolly  he  knew  that  she 
deserved  little  at  their  hands.  Yet  her  glamor  re- 
mained. And  to-day,  a  tremulous  bundle  of  nerves, 
he  had  said  to  himself, 

"A  hat,  a  coat,  a  gown,  a  woman."  And  in  sheer 
lunacy  had  gone  on  repeating  to  himself,  "Furs,  and 
features,  and  a  foot  stepping  forth,  a  handshake  and  a 
voice,  strong  as  any  one's — Rhoda  Harlow,  Rhoda  Har- 
low, dead,  gone,  tumbled  out  of  nowhere  .  .  ," 


The  Heart's  Justice  211 

till  he  was  reduced  to  a  state  of  weakness  where  he 
could  scarcely  make  a  sound. 

Time  had  coordinated  her  talents,  taught  her  the 
importance  of  graciousness  which  she  now  employed 
in  a  way  to  make  Elijah  forget  her  hard,  bright  facets 
at  thirty,  when  airily  she  had  snubbed  him.  Her  voice 
was  low  and  pervasive;  he  heard  it  first  on  the  train 
steps  in  colloquy  with  the  porter  and  thought  of  the 
individual  advent  of  her  voice.  There  was  not  another 
in  Wedgewater  like  it.  Out  of  the  milling  years  she 
brought  the  white  hand  of  a  lady,  the  remnants  of  a 
beauty  carefully  attended,  and  a  minor  strain  of  melan- 
choly. Her  smile  was  a  plea  for  mercy  with  which  she 
slew  him.  The  illusion  of  delicacy  imposed  by  suffering 
was  in  the  heavy  lift  of  her  lids;  her  gentle  apathy 
appealed.  She  looked  upon  the  mild  man,  Elijah,  a 
spectacle  in  a  thousand  pieces,  and,  with  inward  amuse- 
ment, she  set  about  putting  him  together.  By  an  adroit 
compliment  he  was  given  legs  to  stand  on ;  she  solicited 
his  aid  about  the  luggage  and,  lo,  he  was  supplied  with 
arms — she  wooed  him  with  speech  till  he  became  a 
man  wearing  an  overcoat  and  hat  and  capable  of  com- 
mandeering a  taxicab.  Thence  they  had  gone  for 
luncheon  to  the  Mohawk,  and  now  in  mid-afternoon 
they  stood  in  the  desolate  garden  of  a  little  house  while 
the  real  estate  agent,  a  glib  young  man  with  a  red  nose, 
expounded  on  the  merits  of  the  place. 

Mrs.  Burchard,  deep  in  her  furs  and  veils,  picked 
her  way  delicately  over  the  uncouth  ground  and  negli- 
gently permitted  Elijah  a  glimpse  of  a  neat-gaitered 
ankle.  Long  ends  of  chiffon  exotically  sweet  on  the 
cold  air  went  whipping  and  soaring  behind  her  and 
sometimes  took  him  playfully  across  the  face.  He 
courted  the  ends  of  her  veil  and  the  stinging,  fragrant 


212  The  Heart's  Justice 

blackness  when  they  clung  to  him.  And  from  very  far 
off  he  seemed  to  hear  her  voice  talking  in  muffled  tones 
to  the  young  agent.  He  was  numb  with  cold  and 
wretched  distrust  of  himself,  the  foreignness  that  lay 
between  him  and  the  woman  now  that  they  confronted 
one  another  in  the  flesh.  The  confidence  which  she 
had  succeeded  in  establishing  at  the  outset  was  oozing. 
His  unusedness  plagued  and  mocked  him.  How  should 
he  plead  her  cause  fitly  with  David  and  with  the  world 
when  he  was  all  untutored  for  the  part?  What  would 
David  say  of  him  ?  But  greater  even  than  his  remorse 
for  the  sin  against  friendshhip  was  the  fear  that  he 
could  not  go  on  with  her  as  they  had  gone  on  in  their 
letters,  delightfully,  with  art.  She  would  see  that  in 
person  he  was  but  a  sere  dullard  and  scorn  to  waste 
wit  on  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Elijah  wished 
that  he  had  been  different,  had  gone  in  more  for  self- 
cultivation. 

The  real  estate  agent  was  fumbling  with  the  key  to 
the  door.  Ehoda  mounted  the  shallow  steps  and  Elijah 
stumbled  after  her.  It  was  a  bleak  day  and  the  un- 
occupied house  was  cold  with  the  chill  of  a  cellar.  But 
it  was  completely,  if  casually,  furnished  and  had  been 
left  with  the  ease  of  its  personal  trifles.  Chintz  pre- 
vailed and  the  charm  of  simplicity.  At  the  low,  lat- 
ticed windows  one  stood  on  a  par  with  the  garden 
junipers,  the  roses  that  were  thatched  in  straw  for  the 
winter.  Drifts  of  crisp,  curled  leaves  surged  and 
eddied  against  the  panes  when  the  wind  blew,  and  there 
was  a  long,  vacant  sound  in  the  chimney,  a  sudden 
sifting  of  ashes  upon  the  hearth.  Mrs.  Burchard  moved 
about  in  her  aura  of  personal  comfort,  appraising  every- 
thing, commenting  on  the  possibilities  of  each  room. 


The  Heart's  Justice  213 

"Why,"  said  the  young  agent  effusively,  "take  a  per- 
son like  yourself  now — why,  a  person  like  yourself 
could  do  wonders  with  this  here  little  house." 

She  smiled  subtly.  In  any  sun  of  favor  she  was 
lazy  as  a  salamander. 

"Do  you  think  I  could  ?  Yes,  I  dare  say.  But,  b-r-r, 
how  chilly." 

"Say,  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do — "  Red  Nose  showed 
even  greater  zeal  than  mercenary  interests  required. 
"I'll  make  a  fire  so  we  can  all  get  warm.  It's  a  wicked 
day,  I'll  say  that  for  it !"  And  he  found  kindlings  and 
set  to  work,  eventually  overcoming  the  disinclination 
of  the  damp  chimney.  And  in  the  midst  of  his  activity 
he  turned  often  with  a  bright,  unashamed  eye  to  envis- 
age the  charming  woman  who  hovered  near  with  encour- 
agement or  made  pilgrimages  into  adjoining  rooms. 
In  his  eyes  she  was  ageless,  richly  endowed  with 
femininity. 

"Sit  down,"  he  bade  the  two  when  the  fire  was 
bravely  performing,  "you  might  just  as  well  be  warm 
while  you're  making  up  your  minds,  though  I  tell  you 
frankly — "  he  rose  and  dusted  off  his  hands —  "I  tell 
you  frankly  you  won't  find  another  little  place  like  it. 
Unfurnished  perhaps,  but  not  a  furnished  one — there's 
the  point." 

"I  might  do  very  well  here  if  I'm  not  too  much 
alone,"  mused  Mrs.  Burchard,  sitting  between  the  two 
and  consciously  holding  court,  demure  with  the  fem- 
inine talent  which  creates  an  occasion  whenever  one  or 
more  of  the  opposite  sex  is  present 

True  they  were  specimens  scarce  worthy  of  her  skill, 
the  wizened-up  Elijah  in  his  rusty  overcoat  and  the 
ordinary  young  man,  but  her  favor  seemed  to  lift  and 
redeem  them.  They  showed  in  their  eyes  that  the  idea 


214  The  Heart's  Justice 

of  her  loneliness  was  one  to  be  flouted;  they  savored 
their  gallantry. 

"As  if  that  could  happen,"  the  young  agent  made 
bold  to  remark,  and  Elijah,  clearing  his  throat,  assured 
her, 

"You  may — ahem — count  on  me,  Bhoda.  You  may 
definitely  count  on  me  to  drop  in  very  often." 

Was  there  mischief  in  her  eye,  or  was  his  morbid 
self -consciousness  the  inventor  of  that  gleam?  The 
agent,  the  young  jackanapes,  measured  him,  measured 
him  continuously,  as  though  to  say, 

"Dry  rot.  Now  what  in  the  devil  would  she  want 
of  him?" 

Mrs.  Burchard  sat  with  her  wrap  thrown  open,  her 
slim  hands  clasped  about  a  silk-shod  knee,  her  amused 
gaze  tossed  to  the  fire.  Her  face  was  wonderful 
despite  its  lines.  He  knew  her  to  be  forty-eight  years 
old  and  in  his  secret  soul  believed  that  it  was  immoral 
for  her  to  appear  so  young. 

"We're  going  to  be  neighbors,"  said  Elijah  with 
a  jocular  recklessness,  "that's  what  we're  going  to  be. 
And  I  promise  you  if  you  take  this  little  house  I'll 
do  all  I  can  to  see  that  you  are  comfortable." 

"Now,  what,"  worried  the  young  agent,  "can  their 
relationship  be  ?" 

At  the  hotel  when  they  had  driven  back  she  con- 
ferred upon  Elijah  her  two  gloved  hands. 

"Elijah,"  she  said  in  a  mellifluous,  moved  voice, 
"my  true,  good  friend." 

Khoda  Harlow  in  Wedgewater  and  speaking  to  him 
like  that  ...  it  was  surely  a  dream.  But  he 
gathered  himself  into  an  appearance. 

"You  must  consider,"  he  proffered  in  stiff  alarm, 
"that  I'm  always  at  your  service." 


The  Heart's  Justice  215 

"I  too,"  dared  the  young  man  with  a  blush. 
Even  the  real  estate  agent.     .     .     . 


n 


The  morning  following  Muffet's  sleep-walking  she 
and  Rolf  met  at  the  breakfast  table.  Strangeness  was 
upon  them — they  were  strangers.  Muffet's  face  ap- 
peared pale  and  troubled ;  she  peeped  furtively  at  Rolf 
in  inquiry,  but  his  eyes  answered  no  questions.  When 
she  spoke  it  was  in  veiled  apology  for  what  had  been 
a  blameless  act.  She  knew  well  enough  what  had 
happened,  though  fortunately  she  did  not  know  that 
her  dream  had  taken  her  into  the  garden  and  the 
ghostly  apple  orchard.  She  had  found  herself  in  her 
own  room,  lying  on  her  own  bed,  and  covered  with  the 
quilt  which  Rolf  had  brought  to  wrap  round  her. 

That  morning  David  shared  their  breakfast  and  the 
sense  of  the  trouble  between  them.  But  no  matter  how 
constrained  they  might  appear  he  shrank  from  ques- 
tioning them,  he  glossed  over  their  strangeness  with  a 
light  and  flexible  touch.  With  the  selfishness  of  long 
monopoly  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  felt  that 
marriage  had  not  altered  her,  when  she  came  to  him 
with  bright,  adoring  eyes  which  said,  "We  are  one 
another's."  At  the  same  time  he  wanted  Rolf  to  be 
satisfied  with  his  half-a-loaf  so  that  the  domestic  sun 
might  shine  serene  and  no  shadow  fall  upon  his  darling. 
When  Rolf  was  not  happy  David's  conscience  warred ; 
he  became  deliberately  oblivious,  as  though  in  disclaim- 
ing knowledge  of  the  rift  he  disclaimed  responsibility 
for  it 

Upon  waking  most  of  Rolfs  pity  for  his  wife  was 


216  The  Heart's  Justice 

discovered  to  be  gone.  He  now  felt  himself  aggrieved, 
probed  the  depth  of  his  injury  and  found  it  abysmal. 
His  measure  of  consideration  would  amount  to  a  meas- 
ure of  punishment.  His  hurt,  seeking  to  avenge  itself, 
struck  out  savagely  at  any  object.  Vannie,  singing  in 
the  kitchen,  annoyed  him.  The  lament, 

"Ah  ain't  noboddy's  darlin', 
Ah  ain't  noboddy's  love," 

proving  peculiarly  irritating. 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows  to  Muffet. 

"Do  we  have  that  for  breakfast?" 

"I'll  ask  her  to  stop,"  she  answered,  flushing,  and 
cheated  him  of  gymnastic  argument. 

But  his  mind  was  inventive  and  presently  it  produced 
further  belligerence. 

"We've  got  to  find  a  name  for  the  house.  I've  been 
thinking  of  it  for  a  long  time.  Houses  that  haven't 
street  numbers  should  have  names,  and  anyway  they 
make  stationery  look  better." 

"But  the  house  has  a  name,"  put  in  David  lucklessly. 
"My  mother  christened  it  'Birdwood'." 

"Yes,"  said  Muffet  faintly,  "  'Birdwood',"  and  her 
mouth  was  tender  to  caress  the  word.  Her  eyes  met 
David's  and  their  wisdom  embraced. 

Kolf's  color  rose.  He  thought  the  name  dinky  and 
dribbling — it  might  do  for  a  shooting  box  or  a  farm, 
but  for  imposing  effect  he  commended  "Elmhurst." 
Elmhurst  having  popped  into  his  mind  at  that  moment, 
he  immediately  assumed  an  attitude  of  protection  over 
it.  He  had  considered  it  for  a  long  time,  he  said. 
He  had,  in  fact,  about  decided.  .  .  .  His  high- 
handedness was  a  shock  to  the  intimidated  two.  They 


The  Heart's  Justice  217 

showed  it  in  their  faces.  "Birdwood"  was  endeared  by 
association  and  its  touch  of  the  intimate,  but  "Elm- 
hurst" — a  cemetery,  a  park,  a  private  sanitarium,  a 
home  for  inebriates.  .  .  .  No  matter,  thought 
Muffet,  who  bore  in  her  soul  the  malady  of  remorse — 
let  it  be  "Elmhurst,"  even  if  "Elmhurst"  destroyed 
them. 

As  Rolf  rose  and  brushed  out  into  the  hall,  prepar- 
atory to  leaving,  she  came  after  him  and  touched  his 
arm.  Having  lingered  for  her  apology,  he  at  once 
pretended  that  he  had  not  time  to  listen.  His  eyes  were 
averted,  his  body  rigid  with  unfriendliness. 

"Rolf?" 

His  face  was  stony,  but  her  voice  brought  the  tears 
to  his  eyes,  terrible  tears  of  smarting  vanity. 

"Rolf,  I'm  so  sorry.  It  meant  nothing.  Forgive 
me." 

His  silence  was  so  hard  that  she  trembled  for  acquit- 
tal. He  heard  the  sobs  rising  in  her  slender  throat 
before  he  vouchsafed  any  sign;  then, 

"You  couldn't  help  it,"  he  bit  off.  "It  was  your 
thoughts  led  you  that  way  and,  since  that's  the  way 
you  feel,  much  better  we  stay  apart — live  apart."  Ter- 
rible words  encouraged  to  be  as  terrible  as  possible. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  Rolf,  you  mustn't  say  that.  You 
mustn't  think  that.  It's  dangerous  for  people  to  be 
parted.  However  I  may  have  acted,  I  know  that  we 
mustn't  do  that.  We  must  try  to  know  one  another 
intelligently  ...  we  must  try  to  stay  close." 

The  phrase  infuriated  him. 

"It's  only  you,"  he  choked  and  broke  off.  And  again, 
"Do  you  suppose  I  require  an  effort  to  love  you?  Do 
you  suppose  I  require  an  effort  to  know  you  ?" 

"But  you  don't  know  me,  Rolf." 


218  The  Heart's  Justice 

"Then  better  to  stay  away  from  you,  remain  apart 
entirely."  The  heavy  ache  of  misery  spread  slowly 
over  his  body  till  he  wondered  how  it  was  possible  that 
a  man  should  support  the  relentless  pain.  He  looked 
this  way  and  that  in  his  mind  and  met  only  violence 
and  bloodshed.  He  yearned  to  reprisal,  some  way  to 
make  her  suffer  sufficiently — as  he  was  suffering.  Her 
light  breath  was  just  below  him,  the  solicitude  of  her 
slender  throat  uprearing  that  childlike  head. 

"It's  the  only  way,"  he  said  with  a  flicker  of  pleasure. 
"Just  to  be  like  friends.  To  make  no  effort.  Friends 
are  not  straining." 

Her  eyes  opened  wide. 

"But  we're  not  friends,  don't  you  see?"  she  argued 
patiently.  "Something  more  is  required  of  us,  Rolf. 
We're  man  and  wife —  Her  sensitive  face  was  flushed 
to  bravery.  "We  ought  to  be — lovers."  The  voice 
ended  in  a  whisper. 

"Perhaps,"  he  laughed  grimly.  "But  we're  not.  And 
so  it  is  certainly  indecent  that  we  should  pretend  to 
be."  She  drew  away  from  him,  repelled  by  his  rough- 
ness. To  Rolf's  surprise,  he  heard  her  say, 

"Very  well.  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  and  again  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  this  time  they  were  not 
tears  of  begging,  because  she  agreed  with  him.  She 
was  signing  the  compact  which  he  did  not  want  .  .  . 
and  he  knew  that  it  was  no  punishment  at  all,  but  a 
relief.  In  a  moment  the  world  was  changed.  He  could 
not  bear  to  look  at  her  and  know  her  not  for  him  and 
to  see  the  tears  which  she  shed  in  easy  resignation, 
sniff-sniff.  Those  tears  had  nothing  to  do  with  a  deep 
unhappiness.  As  for  him,  he  felt  that  he  could  have 
broken  out  into  tears  that  would  have  made  a  river, 
gone  mad  with  the  rains.  Only  of  course  men  did  not 


The  Heart's  Justice  219 

cry.  Their  alternative  was  to  do  some  colossally  child- 
ish thing,  get  drunk,  or  kick  the  first  dog  they  met  in 
the  street. 

His  sorrow  took  the  normal  turn  of  hatred  and  stump- 
ing down  the  path  to  his  car  he  saw  David  and  told 
himself  with  a  deep,  exultant  satisfaction,  "I  know 
him  now,  the  scamp !"  and  grimly  to  himself  he  added, 
"I  have  him  to  blame." 

David  was  busy  removing  burlap  from  Muffet's 
chrysanthemum  bed  and  had  negligently  permitted  a 
crew  of  small  boys  to  swarm  over  Rolf's  car  which 
was  drawn  up  at  the  gate. 

"Here,  you  young  scamps,  get  out  of  there.  Scat, 
before  I  give  you  each  a  walloping." 

The  bellowing  voice  of  Rolf  shook  every  adolescent 
nerve  into  frenzy.  So  the  four  obeyed  with  expedition 
and  were  still  cringing  when  the  owner,  having  taken 
possession,  left  them  all  the  insult  of  his  dust.  There 
was  no  mistaking  Rolf's  mood,  thought  David,  coming 
down  to  the  gate,  and  incorrigibly  he  condoled  with 
the  culprits.  He  knew  how,  as  a  lad,  he  had  felt 
about  anything  that  went  on  wheels. 

"Come  over  to  the  store  and  I'll  stand  treat,"  he  was 
moved  to  suggest,  one  hand  in  a  musical  pocket. 

Five  minutes  later  the  urchins  were  manning  four 
stools  of  the  Wedgewater  Road  pharmacy,  while  to  an 
attentive  clerk  ran  the  ripple  of  their  refrain, 

"Ice-cream  soda,  ice-cream  soda,  ice-cream  soda.  .  ." 


Chapter  XXI 


ACCORDING  to  Hannah,  the  priestess  of  Elijah's 
household,  he  showed  "strange  symptoms." 
Bacilli  were  at  work  in  him  and  it  was  apparent 
that  he  had  established  no  immunity.  It  was  Hannah's 
duty  to  guard  him  from  all  potential  dangers.  She  had 
accepted  her  post  as  a  sacred  assignment  from  the  dead 
and  she  had  always  tried  to  do,  she  was  fond  of  saying, 
exactly  what  Sarah  would  have  done  in  like  circum- 
stances. She  now  therefore  devoted  her  detective  talents 
to  the  daily  observation  of  her  brother-in-law,  and  dogged 
his  very  thoughts  with  a  relentless,  sleuth-like  avidity. 
She  was  not  far  wrong  in  believing  that  his  whole  psy- 
chology had  altered. 

In  the  first  place  Elijah,  always  a  careless  dresser, 
had  begun  to  manifest  signs  of  concern  as  regarded  his 
personal  appearance.  He  bade  Hannah  throw  away 
the  frayed  shirts  with  which  she  had  been  wrestling 
for  the  last  five  years  and  they  were  replaced  by  new 
ones.  He  also  had  himself  a  new  suit  of  opulent  gray. 
And  the  small  kernel  of  his  face  was  kept  pink  and 
beardless  as  an  infant's.  These  were  "symptoms." 
Another  "symptom"  was  his  absent-mindedness.  Once 
Hannah  caught  him  putting  his  cigars  in  the  ice-box. 
By  a  mighty  effort  of  will  she  said  nothing  at  the  time, 
but  merely  riveted  Elijah  with  a  dark,  distrustful  look 

220 


The  Heart's  Justice  221 

that  sent  him  scuttling  away  in  guilty  embarrassment. 

She  observed  that  the  letter-writing  had  ceased  and 
she  told  herself  that  terrible  as  that  phase  had  been  it 
was  a  mere  preliminary  to  the  permanent  and  dreadful 
state  of  nerves  in  which  he  now  lived  and  had  his  being. 
Hannah,  lacking  actual  evidence,  was  content  to  wait  in 
the  enclosure  of  her  suspicions,  to  wait  and  watch  till 
the  unstrung,  luckless  male  should  betray  his  madness. 
And  she  prophesied  that  it  would  not  be  long. 

One  evening  at  the  supper  table,  having  so  far  for- 
gotten her  prejudice  as  to  make  conversation,  she  said, 

"They're  having  a  sale  on  at  Bettings'  this  week  of 
a  new  patent  egg  beater.  A  dollar.  I  went  to  the  dem- 
onstration and  I'd  a'  bought  one  only  I  figured  you 
might  not  want  it."  Her  slow,  lethargic  voice  releasing 
ideas  was  always  a  surprise  to  Elijah. 

"Why,  of  course.  We  must  keep  up  to  date  in  our 
kitchen,"  and  he  dug  with  a  prodigal  gesture  for  his 
wallet.  Out  came  not  one  dollar  but  its  double  and 
Elijah  was  no  spendthift.  "Go  down  in  the  morning," 
he  said,  jovially,  "and  while  you're  about  it  you  may  as 
well  buy  two!" 

Hannah  stared  with  blanched  face.  You  may  as  well 
buy  two !  Did  she  hear  aright  ?  Her  amazement  was 
borne  in  upon  him  slowly. 

"I'll — I'll  take  one  to  Dave's  house,"  he  explained 
with  a  shaky  carelessness. 

But  she  did  not  believe  him.  It  was  not  incumbent 
upon  her  to  believe  him,  and  rising  to  fetch  the  coffee 
she  presently  experienced  such  a  shock  to  her  notions 
of  propriety  that  she  could  not  at  once  return  to  the 
dining  room.  Palpitant  on  the  air  in  letters  a  yard 
high  stood  the  astonishing  deduction,  "DOUBLE  LIFE  ! 
WHAT  IF  HE  IS  LEADING  A  DOUBLE  LIFE  ?" 


222  The  Heart's  Justice 

She  knew  by  the  evidence  of  her  own  ears  that  Elijah 
was  making  presents — and  not  to  a  man.  Some  shame- 
less woman  neither  in  the  position  of  wife  or  fiancee 
was  about  to  accept  from  this  widower  an  egg  beater. 
Hannah  lifted  her  eyes  to  Heaven  where,  presumably  hei 
dead  sister  resided. 

"Sarah,"  she  whispered,  "this  is  dreadful " 


ii 


It  was  not  until  the  pseudo  Mrs.  Burchard  had 
settled  herself  comfortably  in  the  house  on  John  Street 
that,  by  common  consent,  their  interview  came  about. 
Elijah  shivering  in  his  skin  had  blessed  the  conventional 
delay  which  postponed  his  complicity.  He  told  himself 
it  was  but  playing  the  part  of  a  man  to  see  that  Rhoda 
Harlow  had  a  winter's  supply  of  coal,  to  find  for  her 
a  servant,  to  keep  her  in  morale.  He  told  himself  that 
he  would  have  done  as  much  for  any  person  of  the 
opposite  sex,  and  in  the  imaginary  conversations  which 
he  was  already  holding  with  David  he  argued  right- 
eously, 

"If  you  condemn  me  for  this  all  I  can  say  is  you 
are  very  hard-headed  and  very  narrow." 

But  in  truth  the  contortions  of  his  conscience  gave 
him  small  peace  from  the  time  that  Rhoda  set  foot  in 
Wedgewater  till  the  tightly  wound  situation  had  played 
itself  out.  He  was  in  mortal  terror  lest  her  presence 
there  should  be  discovered  by  David  before  the  two  had 
had  time  to  figure  out  a  plan  of  campaign,  yet  why  it 
would  have  been  worse  now  than  later  he  could  not  have 
said.  David  was  a  recluse  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the 
word;  Wedgewater  people  had  ceased  to  exist  for  him 


The  Heart's  Justice  223 

and  in  turn  he  had  been  all  but  forgotten  by  Wedgewater 
people.  It  was  not  likely  that  he  would  meet  Mrs. 
Burchard  on  the  street  or  that  she  would  be  reported  to 
him  by  any  canny  acquaintance.  Mrs.  Burchard  was 
discreet  in  her  ramblings;  she  affected  dark  garments 
and  the  reserve  of  her  beshrouded  hats.  Elijah  placed 
his  pitiful  trust  in  her  cleverness,  and  permitted  her 
to  lead  him  slowly  toward  that  bridge  ahead  which  both 
of  them  must  cross. 

Rhoda  had  schooled  herself  to  tolerance  of  his  puny 
person — she  did  not  undervalue  his  importance  as  an 
ally,  nor  did  the  fact  of  his  tentative  infatuation  dis- 
please her.  His  shy,  insectous  presence  filled  her  with 
an  exquisite  mirth;  her  femininity  functioning,  ap- 
plauded its  own  performance. 

Now  there  was  always  a  hearth-fire  in  the  living-room 
of  the  little  cottage,  there  were  all  sorts  of  telling  touches 
to  show  that  a  discriminating  woman  had  taken  up  her 
abode.  And  Elijah,  calling  on  a  Saturday  afternoon, 
felt  that  he  could  no  longer  delay  the  business  of  a 
complete  understanding.  He  wished  to  be  very  delicate, 
to  approach  the  thing  with  consummate  art,  else  Rhoda's 
feelings,  always  in  a  tender  state,  were  likely  to  suffer 
collapse.  That  day  he  had  brought  her  a  canary  bird 
in  a  vaulted  cage  of  gold  wire. 

"It  will  sing  for  you,"  he  promised  feverishly,  thrust- 
ing the  bulky  package  into  her  hands.  "I  thought  it 
would  keep  you  from  getting  the  fidgets  when  you're  all 
alone." 

"What  a  precious  twitterer."  She  peeped  into  the 
cage,  then  expanded  a  tender  eye  for  Elijah  in  a  way 
that  reminded  him  startlingly  of  Muffet  Sterling,  save 
that  Muffet's  archness  was  of  humor  rather  than 
coquetry.  "Ah,  Elijah,  that  was  divine  of  you.  And 


224  The  Heart's  Justice 

now  I  suppose  I  must  have  a  cuttlefish,  for  the  dear 
thing  to  wipe  its  nose  on." 

Hating  birds,  she  moved  adorably  to  the  brightest  cor- 
ner and  found  a  hook  on  which  to  hang  the  cage  while 
Elijah,  behind  her,  perspired  with  pleasure.  Very  often 
now  he  pranced  out  of  his  sixty  years  to  find  himself 
once  more  a  fanciful  young  man.  All  the  nipped  roman- 
ticism of  his  youth  awoke  with  troublous  whispers,  all 
the  soft  absurdities  that  his  wife  had  killed. 

But  Rhoda  Harlow  carried  her  aura  of  enchantment 
into  middle-age,  and  gave  the  impression  not  of  one 
who  has  lived  on  the  branch  but  of  a  charming  cosmo- 
politan, feminine  and  adaptable.  There  were  objects 
in  that  room  which  exercised  a  strange  power  over 
Elijah,  shabby  lengths  of  brocade  out  of  Italy,  a  strip 
of  fine  filet  lace  thrown  across  the  divan,  on  the  table 
many  boxes  of  antique  silver  and  a  crystal  ball  on 
a  carved  standard.  The  maid  brought  them  tea  in 
Florentine  cups  and  when  the  tea  was  half  drained 
he  saw  a  head  of  Beatrice  or  Lucrezia  glimmering 
through  the  amber  liquid.  And  always  there  was 
Rhoda's  drawling  voice,  her  slim  lounging  elegance 
and  Elijah  was  taken  out  of  himself,  transported — a 
man  of  few  contacts,  and  one  conscious  of  his  uncouth- 
ness,  he  was  the  more  grateful  for  the  hospitality  which 
she  accorded  him.  He  felt  that  he  had  never  known 
a  woman  before  and  he  was  extraordinarily  averse  to 
analyzing  her  spell.  Good  conservative  that  he  was, 
he  wished  ardently  that  he  might  accept  her  without 
reference  to  her  past.  This  he  could  not  quite  do  since 
it  was  in  reference  to  her  past  that  he  must  arrange 
her  future.  But  he  confessed  that  the  idea  of  her 
reunion  with  David  was  incongruous.  He  did  not  know 
how  to  put  his  old  friend  before  her  in  terms  of 


The  Heart's  Justice  225 

the  present  She  had  left  him  a  handsome,  clear-cut 
Harlow  with  all  a  Harlow's  stinging  pride  and  stature ; 
she  would  find  him  a  retiring  laborer,  broken  in  health 
and  spirit.  David,  even  less  than  Elijah,  would  he 
able  to  play  at  partners  with  her;  David  was  sobered, 
disinclined,  and  had  suffered  too  severely  at  her  hands. 
Elijah,  virgin  so  far  as  his  heart  was  concerned,  might 
better  know  "the  wild  and  guilty  joy  of  being  a  damn 
fool." 

"I  thought,"  said  Elijah  with  hardy  determination 
when  the  lowering  tea  in  his  cup  had  brought  him  face 
to  face  with  Lucrezia  Borgia,  "I  thought  that  to-day  we 
— we  might  make  a  try  at  getting  to  the  root  of  things. 
I  suppose  you  realize  that  we've  hardly  touched  at 
all  on — on  the  subject  closest  to  our  thoughts." 

Rhoda  sat  in  a  low  chair  by  the  tea-table,  facing  the 
fire,  her  long,  slender  foot  in  a  satin  slipper  resting  on 
the  fender.  Outside  the  afternoon  was  dull  and  threat- 
ening; from  where  they  sat  they  could  see  the  white- 
caps  on  the  bay  livid  against  the  steel-gray  waters.  Now 
and  then  a  dizzy  swirl  of  leaves  flew  obliquely  across 
the  panes.  She  replaced  her  cup  on  the  tray  with  a 
little  gesture  of  laying  her  cards  on  the  table. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  the  time  has  come  to  talk  of  many 
things,  of  shoes  and  ships  and  sealing  wax — "  She 
broke  off  whimsically.  "Elijah,  I  am  not  a  frivolous 
woman  but  it  has  been  sweet  to  settle  down  in  this 
absurd  little  house  and  pretend  that  life  is  just  begin- 
ning, instead  of  meandering  to  its  close." 

"Oh,"  protested  Elijah,  flourishing  his  handkerchief 
and  giving  his  nose  a  tweak,  "don't  say  that " 

"Perhaps  you'll  give  me  the  details  of  the  last  hun- 
dred years,"  she  suggested  dryly,  "help  me  fill  in  the 
gaps.  I've  wondered  so  much  how  things  went  on  in 


226  The  Heart's  Justice 

Wedgewater,  how  one  supported  the  immense  fatigue 
of  this  little  town  without  ending  in  coma.  I  once 
promised  myself,"  she  admitted  with  a  rueful  shake 
of  the  head,  "never  to  come  back.  And  here  is  what 
that  promise  amounted  to!" 

"Home  is  always — home,"  opined  Elijah  platitud- 
inously.  "I  guess  you  are  no  different  from  the  rest 
of  us  here,  except  that  you've  had  opportunities  for 
broadening.  Dave  and  I  we've  stuck  to  the  old  path, 
Dave  had  Muffet  and  I — er — I  had  Sarah !" 

Rhoda's  face  became  instinct  with  malicious  remem- 
brance. 

"Sarah,"  she  mused,  as  one  who  is  secretly  diverted 
by  some  picture.  She  looked  at  Elijah,  the  product  of 
his  Presbyterian  yesterdays  and  smiled. 

"And  now  that  Sarah  is  gone  you  live  alone  ?" 

"No,"  said  Elijah  innocently,  "now  I  have  her  sister 
Hannah." 

"Now  you  have  Hannah,"  she  repeated  marveling, 
and  would  have  liked  to  add,  "Soon  you  will  be  old 
enough  to  do  without  a  nurse." 

But  as  Elijah  talked  she  saw  the  meagerness  of  the 
life  he  had  led. 

She  saw  the  Sunday  nights  on  Wedgewater  Road 
where,  he  told  her,  he  had  habitually  dropped  in  for 
supper  up  to  the  time  that  Muffet  was  married.  And 
when  she  asked  him  why  he  no  longer  dined  there  he 
had  answered  that  it  was  different  now.  Didn't  he 
like  Mr.  Sterling?  Oh,  Sterling  was  a  capital  fellow, 
but  there  was  a  certain  restraint  about  the  three  of 
them,  Muffet,  her  husband  and  David. 

"Perhaps  the  young  people  are  not  happy  together," 
surmised  Muffet's  mother  with  impersonal  acumen,  and 
took  Elijah  unaware. 


The  Heart's  Justice  227 

He  cleared  his  throat.  He  said  oh,  yes,  that  they 
were  happy.  Why,  they  hadn't  been  married  six 
months.  His  eyes  wavered  childishly  and  found  the 
canary  cage  as  an  objective.  Her  smile  was  safe. 

"Tell  me  more,"  she  bade  him  with  a  good  deal  of 
relish,  "tell  me  more  about  my  two !" 

Her  two !  Elijah's  look  twitched  back  to  her.  Her 
two !  The  proprietary  "my"  troubled  him ;  it  was  in 
distinctly  bad  taste  and  if  used  in  sarcasm  it  became 
even  worse.  But  his  salvation  lay  in  not  doubting  her 
sincerity.  Consequently  he  spoke  on  of  David  and  the 
girl  during  those  years  before  her  marriage  when  they 
had  lived  like  babes  in  the  woods. 

"You  sometimes  see  a  girl  who  makes  few  friends," 
he  told  Bhoda,  "but  you  don't  often  see  one  who  fair 
idolizes  her  father.  Why,  the  friendship  between  those 
two,  the  love  between  them  made  you  feel  kind  of 
strange  and  sad-like.  David  got  it  all,"  and  he  wiped 
his  eyes.  "They  never  had  much  in  the  way  of  com- 
forts, nothing  but  each  other." 

But  Rhoda's  expression  had  changed  acutely.  It  did 
not  please  her  that  he  should  sentimentalize  and  snivel 
over  the  two  pious  ones  who  had  labeled  her  a  moral 
leper.  She  stood  it  long  as  she  could,  then  loosed  a 
laugh  of  hard  irony. 

"Would  you  mind  not  pitying  them  quite  so  thor- 
oughly? Would  you  mind  casting  an  eye  upon  me 
declassee  in  Europe  or  living,  friendless,  in  New 
York?" 

Elijah  grew  purple  with  embarrassment.  He  had  it 
in  the  back  of  his  mind  to  argue  that,  having  sowed 
a  tempest,  she  was  bound  to  reap  a  whirlwind.  But 
the  extraordinary  thing  about  her  was  her  look  of 
extreme  refinement,  utter  feminine  dependence,  that 


228  The  Heart's  Justice 

won  sympathy  without  ever  asking  for  it.  When  he 
permitted  himself  surrender  he  was  all  in  the  hollows 
of  those  white  flowering  hands,  more  magical,  he  told 
himself,  at  fifty  than  they  had  been  twenty  years 
before.  He  saw  the  hard  light  in  her  eyes,  the  quiver 
of  her  lips  and  called  himself  a  Pharisee. 

"Forgive  me,"  begged  Elijah  contritely,  "I  really 
did  not  mean  to  imply  that  they  had  the  worst  of  it 
I  realize  there's  always  your  side." 

But  she  sat  stiff  and  tragic-eyed.  If  she  wept  he 
would  have  to  do  what  he  could  to  comfort  her,  pat 
her  hands,  say,  or  just  place  a  protecting  arm  about 
her  shoulder. 

"I  have  been  punished,"  she  brought  forth  in  a  labor- 
ing voice. 

"There,  there." 

"But  I  am  not  a  bad  woman.  If  1  were  it  wouldn't 
have  occurred  to  me  to  try  to  make  reparation." 

"There,   there.     Who  says  you're  a  bad  woman?" 

7  t/  «/ 

Elijah  thought  how  fantastic  the  words  sounded. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  the  name  "Burchard" 
by  which  she  now  went  and  which  she  had  made  not 
the  slightest  move  toward  explaining.  It  was  incred- 
ible that  David  had  never  given  Elijah,  his  closest 
friend,  his  confidence  in  regard  to  her.  What  Elijah 
naturally  supposed  now  was  that  Rhoda  returned  to 
Wedgewater,  either  the  widow  or  the  divorced  wife 
of  a  second  experience.  He  was  a  long  time  working 
up  his  courage  to  the  active  point  but  it  came  at  last 
in  a  rush. 

"Ehoda,  would  you  care  to  tell  me  how  it  has  been 
with  you  all  these  years  ?"  His  cheeks  burned  crimson, 
his  voice  was  hoarse  with  feeling. 


The  Heart's  Justice  229 

She  looked  upon  his  ingenuousness  and  knew  it  easily 
exploited. 

"Do  you,"  she  put  it  pitifully,  "insist  upon  giving 
me  all  that  pain?"  and  immediately  there  was  Elijah 
helpless ! 

Women  fought  with  strange  weapons;  they  had  a 
way  of  confusing  issues  in  the  masculine  mind.  Still 
he  clung,  with  a  certain  tenacity  to  his  original  thought. 

"But  Burchard,"  he  insisted  dazedly,  "what  became 
of  him?" 

She  wept  a  few  hysterical  tears. 

"Burchard,  there  was  never  any  Burchard  really. 
It's  an  empty  name — one — one  I  took  to  protect  my 
own." 

Elijah  sat  back,  nonplussed.  He  was  not  accustomed 
to  furnish  his  mind  with  scandal.  At  the  same  time 
he  had  filed  certain  facts  in  regard  to  her,  perhaps  not 
the  name  "Burchard"  but  a  substitute.  Rhoda  was 
hidden  in  her  tears,  like  a  ship  in  a  smoke-screen.  He 
ached  with  interrogation  and  could  not  find  her.  Still, 
she  could  not  stay  forever.  Numbly  he  bided  his  time, 
till  with  the  first  signs  of  her  appearance  the  question 
could  be  put. 

"Rhoda,  are  you  still  David's  wife?" 

She  straightened  slightly. 

"My  name  is  still  Rhoda  Harlow.  When  /  wanted 
a  divorce  he  wouldn't  give  it  to  me.  He  thought  I 
would  come  home.  Later  when  he  wanted  one  I  fought 
it — I  had  to  have  something  to  cling  to  then." 

Elijah  mopped  his  brow. 

"Just  one  thing  more,  Rhoda.  Has  he  supported  you 
all  these  years?" 

"It's  been  little  enough." 

But  Elijah  saw  her  hands,  white  from  idleness,  her 


230  The  Heart's  Justice 

daintiness  of  the  dillettante  and  he  knew,  God  help 
him,  that  David  had  maintained  her  well,  David  dying 
a  poor  man!  A  fresh  sorrow  swept  over  him.  Oh, 
he  had  done  better  to  leave  her  alone,  leave  her  alone. 
He  bowed  his  head.  She  watched  his  inevitable  reac- 
tion with  hot,  dry,  narrow  eyes.  Little  florid  patches 
of  color  rose  in  her  pale  cheeks.  She  was  bitterly 
annoyed  by  her  own  careless  technique.  During  the 
interlude  of  his  depression  she  busied  herself  with 
the  preparation  of  a  new  pose,  and  when  he  was  recov- 
ered it  was  in  the  last  stages  of  perfection.  Dignity 
was  treading  the  boards. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said  very  softly,  "sorry  that  I 
have  imposed  upon  your  time  and  sympathy.  David 
fulfilled  his  obligation  as  regards — support.  When  I 
said  that  he  was  cruel  I  did  not  mean  to  imply  in  that 
particular  sense.  I  meant  that  he  denied  me  the  right 
to  redemption." 

Elijah  shook  his  head. 

"But  after  all  it  was  you  who  went  away.  And 
since  all  these  years  he  has  been  maintaining  you 

She  flew  into  a  rage  with  him. 

"Maintaining?  What  a  horrible  word.  And  what 
a  literal  nature  you  have!" 

"Your  letters  touched  me,"  continued  Elijah,  un- 
heeding. "I  thought  that  David  had  been  hard  on 
you,  uncharitable,  though,  God  help  me,  I  should 
have  known  him  better  than  to  believe  that — and  so 
I  presumed  to  meddle " 

"Ah,  well,"  she  stood  erect  nervously,  her  coldness 
regathered,  "since  the  monetary  part  of  it  weighs  so 
heavily  with  you,  since  you  consider  he  has  discharged 
his  entire  duty — "  She  made  a  proud  gesture  of  final- 
ity, "forgive  me  and  let  me  go  back  into  exile — "  The 


The  Heart's  Justice  231 

words  were  chosen  unerringly  and  struck  Elijah  where 
he  was  most  vulnerable.  Melodrama,  but  sufficiently 
well  played  to  deceive  him!  And  she  went  on,  the 
mournful  music  of  her  voice  speaking  of  the  uneven 
chances  of  life,  her  melancholy  singing  down  the  objec- 
tions of  his  reason,  till  he  looked  at  her  with  dark, 
despairing  eyes. 

In  her  lived  all  the  wiles  of  a  world  of  women  but 
he  could  not  bear  it  if  she  went.  He  was  sick  in  his 
own  complexity. 

"Don't  go,"  he  begged  her  feebly,  "don't  go." 


Chapter  XXII 


IT  was  another  day  and  Elijah  Moore  was  standing 
with  Mrs.  Burchard  at  the  gate  after  a  walk  with 
her  along  the  bay.  The  sky  was  bright  and  boister- 
ous, the  air  golden  with  a  million  stabbing  particles. 
John  Street  lay  at  one  end  of  the  long  crescent  of  the 
town.  Directly  across  the  harbor  Wedgewater  Road 
ran  out  to  form  the  other.  One  saw  the  Ship  and 
Engine  Company,  a  huddle  of  buildings  thrown  together 
like  stones  in  the  Giant's  Causeway,  and,  half  obliter- 
ating it  in  the  foreground,  passive  submarines  and 
hound-gray  destroyers.  Mrs.  Burchard  had  chosen  to 
put  the  length  of  the  half  moon  between  her  family  and 
herself  and  so  far  had  maintained  her  incognito.  But 
to-day,  just  as  she  and  Elijah  Moore  would  have 
shaken  hands  across  the  low  gate  of  her  garden,  Elijah 
glanced  up  the  street  and  saw  something  to  make  his 
mind  congeal, — Elijah  saw  the  smart  enclosed  car 
of  Rolf  Sterling  coming  toward  them  at  an  unhurried 
speed.  He  saw  Sterling  himself  at  the  wheel,  bearing 
down  upon  him  with  a  smile  of  recognition,  and  turned 
in  panic  toward  his  companion. 

"That's  Sterling  coming,"  he  told  her  in  an  agitated 
whisper,  "you  know — Rolf  Sterling  who  married 
Muffet!"  But  to  his  intense  surprise  she  remained 
imperturbable,  cool  and  in  countenance,  a  replica  of 

232 


The  Heart's  Justice  233 

the   smile   of   Mona   Lisa   just   rippling   her   mouth. 

"So  this  is  Sterling,"  she  remarked  with  keen  interest, 
and  instead  of  going  quickly  into  the  cottage  as  Elijah 
prayed  that  she  would  do  she  took  her  time  at  the  gate, 
in  no  wise  discomforted.  "Does  he  know  about  me?" 
she  had  time  to  ask,  and  the  miserable  Elijah  was 
bound  to  admit  that  he  did  not. 

"Ah,"  she  murmured  dryly,  "they  could  hardly  risk 
telling  him." 

But  as  deeply  as  he  felt  her  irony  Elijah  nevertheless 
pressed  upon  her  the  tableau  of  leave-taking  for  the 
benefit  of  the  young  man  now  about  to  proffer  him  a 
lift.  Rolf,  opening  the  door  for  Elijah,  was  obviously 
impressed  by  the  company  in  which  he  found  him.  It 
was  rare  enough,  certainly,  to  surprise  the  bashful  little 
man  in  conversation  with  one  of  the  opposite  sex,  but 
that  he  should  be  discovered  en  tete-a-tete  with  a  woman 
of  manifest  charm  appealed  to  Rolf  as  incredible.  Rolf 
applied  the  foot-brake,  lifted  his  hat.  Across  the  inter- 
vening sidewalk  his  eyes  met  those  of  Elijah's  com- 
panion and  both  colored  slightly.  She  was  a  woman 
slender,  ageless,  with  fair  hair  showing  under  the  coil 
of  a  little  hat  whose  veil  hung  just  below  her  eyes. 
She  wore  a  long  gray  wrap  with  a  collar  of  silver  fox 
out  of  which  her  face  emerged  with  a  certain  diablerie. 
Yet  she  was  a  woman  of  no  common  lure.  There  was 
in  Sterling's  eyes  the  unmistakable  masculine  tribute 
which  Rhoda  invariably  commanded  and  had  learned  to 
expect. 

"Can  I  give  you  a  lift,  Mr.  Moore  ?"  It  was  Rolfs 
voice  calling  out  to  Elijah,  but  Elijah  was  in  thrall  to 
Rhoda's  detaining  hand. 

"Come  to-morrow,  then,"  she  said  audibly,  and  in  a 
tense  aside,  "Introduce  him!" 


234  The  Heart's  Justice 

At  the  unwarranted  request  Elijah  gave  her  one  sup- 
plicating look  and  went  off  into  a  fit  of  elaborate  cough- 
ing; he  coughed  to  gain  time.  But  the  situation  had 
him  in  its  teeth  and  was  shaking  him  like  a  terrier. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Sterling,"  he  spluttered,  very  red  in  the 
face,  "thank  you  so  much.  I'm  on  my  way  to  town. 
But  won't  you  step  out  and  meet  an  old  friend  of  mine 
who  has  come  to  Wedgewater  to  live  ?  Mrs.  Burchard, 
let  me  introduce  Mr.  Sterling,  one  of  our  most  impor^ 
tant  townsmen." 

Sterling  came  and  bulked  big  above  Mrs.  Burchard, 
who  thrilled  to  the  magnificence  of  him  and  the  incor- 
rigible joke  that  he  was  her  son-in-law.  He  had  an 
old-fashioned  handshake  and  an  infrequent  but  engaging 
smile.  He  said  conventionally  that  Wedgewater  would 
welcome  Mrs.  Burchard  with  enthusiasm,  that  she  would 
be  a  great  acquisition  to  their  town,  and  wondered 
when  she  spoke  why  the  cadences  of  her  voice  were 
faintly  familiar.  Mrs.  Burchard  thanked  him  gra- 
ciously, but  announced  her  intention  of  playing  the  her- 
mit to  a  great  extent,  as  she  was  far  from  strong  and 
had  come  to  winter  in  Wedgewater  for  the  express 
purpose  of  living  a  sedentary  life.  It  seemed  to  Rolf 
that  she  bloomed  with  a  healthy  pallor.  .  .  . 

"And  you  have  taken  the  Wellington  cottage," 
he  observed  heavily,  still  of  a  notion  that  he  had  seen 
her  somewhere  before,  or  had,  at  least,  heard  her  voice. 
"It  seems  to  be  a  comfortable  house,"  and  he  added 
involuntarily,  "from  the  outside " 

"Oh,"  she  said  with  a  gleam,  "perhaps  you  will  stop 
some  time  and  let  me  show  you  the  inside  I" 

He  betrayed  surprise,  recovered  himself  and  prom- 
ised over-zestfully  that  he  would.  Then  he  and  Elijah 


The  Heart's  Justice  235 

took  leave  of  her  and  Mrs.  Burchard  moved  lightly  up 
her  path  in  the  sharp,  winter  sunlight. 

"Well,"  observed  Rolf  when  he  and  Elijah  were 
seated  in  the  car  and  Elijah  was  drawing  in  the  after- 
thought of  his  foot,  "you  seem  to  have  done  yourself 
very  well." 

He  looked  at  Elijah  with  an  expansive,  teasing  grin. 

"Ha-hum,"  Elijah  knew  that  he  was  in  for  it.  "I've 
known  her  a  long  time,  a  very  long  time.  She  was — 
er — a  friend  of  Sarah's." 

"Ho,  ho,  so  that's  how  smug  you've  been.  And  now 
she's  come  to  Wedgewater  and  you  are  going  to  be  her 
guide,  philosopher  and  friend.  David  will  be  highly 
diverted  to  hear  of  it." 

"David  ?"  gasped  Elijah,  and  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  seriousness  of  the  tone.  "Now  I  beg  of  you  most 
earnestly,  Rolf,  not  to  mention  Mrs.  Burchard  to  Dave. 
I  have  my  own  special  reasons  for  asking  you." 

"Ho,  ho,"  jeered  Rolf  again,  and  again  the  hateful, 
knowing  smile.  "I  see.  And  you  may  depend  upon 
me  to  keep  your  little  secret,  Moore.  But  don't  be 
surprised  if  we  collide  some  fine  day  at  the  lady's  door. 
You  know  she  invited  me  to  call." 

But  Elijah  had  not  heart  for  his  jokes.  He  was  lean- 
ing back  against  the  upholstered  seat  in  a  state  of 
nervous  exhaustion. 


The  snow  fell  early  that  winter;  the  winds  came 
down  from  the  north  and  brought  bitter  weather,  but 
Rolf  Sterling's  house,  with  its  new  shingles  and  clap- 
boards, its  new,  self-sufficient  little  furnace,  was  warm 
within  as  a  heart  enkindled.  Vannie  no  longer  needed 


236  The  Heart's  Justice 

to  paste  paper  strips  in  fantastic  designs  across  the 
unmended  windows,  nor  to  worry  o'  nights  lest  the 
kitchen  fire,  falling  too  low  in  its  convalescence,  should 
go  out. 

"Dis  de  fust  winter,"  she  marveled  to  Muffet,  "dat 
Ah  'scape  havin'  dat  misery  in  mah  bones !" 

Muffet  was  content  in  her  household  regime  and  her 
few  outside  pleasures.  Rolf  had  given  her  a  car  of 
her  own  to  drive  that  fall,  and  when  the  roads  were 
not  too  slippery  she  delighted  to  take  her  father  to 
the  factory  each  morning.  She  would  return  punctil- 
iously at  a  still  early  hour  to  have  breakfast  with  Rolf, 
and  showed  no  resentment  when,  after  a  perfunctory 
kiss,  he  devoted  himself  to  his  grapefruit  and  his 
morning  paper.  Since  the  estrangement  which  had 
fallen  between  them  was  a  matter  of  very  vital  pain 
with  him,  since  he  was  denied  the  ardors  of  a  happy 
lover,  he  scorned  her  overtures  of  friendliness.  He 
thought  the  phase  through  which  they  were  passing  a 
ridiculous  and  unnecessary  one.  Hating  the  rift 
between  them,  he  yet  abode  it  stubbornly,  determined 
that  it  should  endure  till  she  too  suffered  and  awakened 
to  a  sense  of  the  shallow  ideal  she  had  brought  to  mar- 
riage. But  Muffet  did  not  suffer  and  did  not  awaken, 
and  presently  came  the  strike  at  the  factory  to  take 
precedence  for  the  time  being  over  his  personal  affairs. 

It  was  the  mechanics  who  were  asking  for,  not  shorter 
hours,  but  more  pay,  "a  living  wage"  they  called  it 
when  they  sent  their  representatives  to  call  on  Rolf  in 
his  office.  Prices  were  high  and  the  winter  had  begun 
cruelly.  Their  families  suffered  for  lack  of  fuel  and 
warm  clothing.  Mechanics  engaged  in  a  similar  indus- 
try had  been  granted  a  raise.  They  would  give  him  a 
certain  number  of  days  to  consider  their  demands,  at 


The  Heart's  Justice  237 

the  end  of  which  time  they  would  walk  out  And  walk 
out  they  did.  For  Rolf  was  not  prepared  to  meet  them 
halfway.  It  was  not  as  in  the  great,  prosperous  days  of 
the  war.  .  .  . 

Rolf  rode  home  darkly  and  darkly  divined  that  Har- 
low  had  been  talking  to  his  daughter,  had  covertly  laid 
the  situation  before  her  and  pleaded  that  the  men  were 
justified.  The  two  ceased  talking  when  he  came  into 
the  room,  but  the  subject  uppermost  in  all  their  minds 
was  bound  to  come  to  an  open  head,  and  spasmodically 
they  warred.  The  striking  workmen  were  to  be  seen 
now  all  along  Wedgewater  Road,  eager  in  conclave  wher- 
ever two  or  three  were  gotten  together.  Their  faces 
were  hopeful,  brighter  and  cleaner ;  they  got  the  factory 
grime  from  their  cheeks,  the  smoke  out  of  their  eyes. 
They  talked  about  what  they  owed  their  families  and 
the  price  of  coal  and  groceries.  Thus  they  held  out 
for  three  weeks.  At  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  the 
thermometer  dropped  to  fourteen  degrees  below  zero 
and  held  the  same  night  and  morning.  The  men  looked 
worn  and  anxious.  A  low  sound  was  beginning  to  make 
itself  heard  in  the  tenement  district,  the  sound  of  suf- 
fering, hunger  and  cold. 

When  Sterling  left  in  the  morning  mysterious  bas- 
kets were  packed  in  Muffet's  kitchen.  L^ter  she  made 
flannel  petticoats  for  children,  nightgowns  and  hoods; 
she  had  Emmeline  Hawkins  in  to  help  her.  Word  of 
it  leaked  out  and  came  to  Sterling.  He  contended  that 
his  wife  had  made  a  fool  of  him.  They  quarreled 
unhappily,  and  Muffet  stopped  sewing.  The  fifth  week 
the  men  went  back  to  work  at  the  old  wage.  The  de- 
spair, the  futility  of  it!  Rolf  came  home,  triumphant, 
and  Muffet  turned  from  him  sickly  to  her  father.  An- 
other cause  for  resentment  was  the  way  that  Rolf  had 


238  The  Heart's  Justice 

thrust  David  into  a  negligible  position  in  the  house- 
hold. She  became  iron  to  uphold  him,  and  her  intimate, 
dark  head,  bent  over  the  interminable  basket  of  her 
father's  mending,  was  one  of  the  sights  which  made 
Kolf  ache. 

His  mind,  let  down  from  its  problems  at  the  factory, 
became  angry  with  frustration.  He  was  now  more 
observant  of  his  wife  than  ever  before,  more  truly  and 
deeply  in  love  with  her.  Yet  his  supreme  mortification 
caused  him  to  be  churlish  and  reserved.  In  what  way 
did  he  fail  to  qualify  as  a  man,  he  asked  himself  a 
thousand  times  a  day.  Hungrily  he  drank  the  plaudits 
of  the  directors  of  the  company,  loud  in  their  praise 
of  the  way  he  had  managed  the  strike.  He  existed  on 
the  machine-like  response  of  his  office  staff,  thinking, 
"Here  there  is  no  question  of  divided  loyalty.  Here 
at  least  I  stand  first."  He  fostered  his  pride  by  going 
among  men,  bringing  them  to  his  house  that  they  might 
platform  him  in  Muffet's  eyes. 

All  to  no  avail.  He  was  in  the  ill-health  of  his  own 
festering  doubts,  daily  more  unhappy.  The  surround- 
ings of  his  home  lost  significance  for  him.  And  the 
worst  blow  to  his  manhood  was  the  thought  that  Muffet 
had  never  seemed  more  normal.  What  was  to  him  a 
false  way  of  living  was  the  restoration  of  her  poise. 
Useless  for  her  to  pretend  that  the  break,  the  cessation 
of  any  real  union  between  them,  caused  her  unhap- 
piness.  It  was  rather  her  marriage  with  Kolf  that  had 
been  the  anomaly,  her  marriage  with  any  man.  Think- 
ing it  all  out  coolly,  he  decided  that  the  love  which 
should  have  been  his  had  long  ago  been  diverted  into 
the  channel  of  filial  affection.  He  faced  the  fact 
starkly — she  did  not  love  him.  But  he  might  have  a 


The  Heart's  Justice  239 

chance  to  make  her  love  him  if  it  were  not  for  her 
father,  tenacious,  omnipresent. 

Following  Christmas  there  was  a  gay  season  in 
Wedgewater.  Rolf  and  Muffet  were  in  evidence  as 
a  lately  married  pair,  important  by  many  tokens.  Roli 
found  himself  the  object  of  admiring  envy.  "You 
certainly  bagged  a  prize,  old  boy,"  and,  "How  does  it 
seem  to  be  a  married  man  ?"  till  the  travesty  nauseated 
him. 

Muffet  bore  the  parties  with  tolerable  humor.  She 
made  the  mot  that  the  Wedgewater  people  were  charm- 
ing hosts  just  so  long  as  they  could  resist  entertaining. 
She  looked  pretty  and  distinctive,  but  never  lost  herself 
in  the  aggregate,  and  all  the  way  home,  her  little  satin- 
bright  slippers  cocked  up  before  her,  she  yawned  pro- 
digiously. 

"Good  night."  she  would  say  at  the  head  of  the  stair, 
and,  airily,  "It  has  been  such  fun.  I'll  just  tiptoe 
into  dear  Father's  room  to  see  if  he's  all  right"  .  .  . 
and  she  would  tiptoe  in  and  back  and  reach  up  to  kiss 
Rolf  with  a  child's  decorum.  And  she  would  rest  there 
a  moment  with  a  warm  friendliness,  smelling  like  a 
lovely  tea-rose,  while  he  abode  the  agony  of  his  own, 
unspoken  entreaties:  "Oh,  my  darling,  don't  let  our 
life  be  a  failure.  .  .  .  See  love  real — see  it  beau- 
tiful. .  .  ."  Could  Muffet  have  heard  the  extremity 
of  that  longing  expressed  in  words  she  might  have 
looked  upon  Rolf  very  differently.  But  it  was  never 
actually  spoken;  a  powerful  shyness  inhibited  him; 
that,  mixed  with  a  clumsy,  dogged  pride,  forbade  him 
to  beg.  He  was  instinct  with  the  danger  of  their 
divided  ways  which  she  had  once  pointed  out  to  him, 
but  which,  in  that  crucial  time,  he  had  insisted  upon 
ignoring  in  order  that  he  might  score  one  sullen  vie- 


240  The  Heart's  Justice 

tory.  He  courted  sleep,  in  his  desolation,  as  the  one 
road  to  forgetfulness,  but  in  the  morning  when  he 
wakened  he  remembered  immediately  the  breach  between 
them;  he  remembered  before  his  eyes  were  open  and 
as  often  in  the  night  as  his  dreams  wore  threadbare. 
The  winter  sunlight,  curious  at  his  lids,  became  each 
day  a  separate  insult. 

He  and  David  had  little  to  say  to  one  another  these 
days.  Rolf,  lacking  justification  for  .his  rage,  busied 
himself  with  small  and  hectoring  implications.  His 
father-in-law  was  a  dodderer,  dry-rot.  By  Jove  he  was 
a  dodderer  and  so  were  his  friends,  Elijah  as  example. 
A  pair  of  dodderers.  But  Rolf  was  now  given  to 
meditating  upon  Elijah  with  a  shade  of  deference 
owing  to  his  privilege  of  friendship  with  the  charming, 
if  mysterious,  Mrs.  Burchard.  He  condescended  to 
respect  Elijah  and  was  as  good  as  his  word  in  guarding 
his  secret,  though  the  idea  that  he  should  have  a  secret 
to  guard  never  ceased  to  amuse  him.  Elijah  was  a 
modest  little  old  fellow  who  lived  austerely  by  himself, 
retaining  all  the  reserve  of  a  bachelor.  He  was  nothing 
of  a  beau,  nothing  of  a  spendthrift.  Each  Sunday  he 
went  to  church  and  put  a  dollar  bill  on  the  contribution 
plate,  subscribing  an  additional  dollar  for  the  clothing 
of  the  naked  Syrians  whose  improper  plight  he  thought 
of  with  pain.  His  incompetence  when  thrown  into  a 
role  requiring  tact  and  savoir  faire,  was  pitiable,  and 
Rolf's  thoughts  went  out  to  Mrs.  Burchard  solicitously. 

It  was  a  proof  of  his  loneliness,  the  slipping  of  his 
strict  standard,  that  he  thought  of  any  woman  save  his 
wife,  that  often  the  need  for  nourishment  of  spirit 
caused  him  to  remember  Mrs.  Burchard  as  one  likely  to 
give  him  nattering  fare.  She  was  older  than  he  and  her 
face  was  an  epic — she  had  lived.  Muffet  had  "the 


The  Heart's  Justice  241 

hard  heart  of  a  child!"  What  harm  could  it  do  if  he 
stopped  some  day  to  see  her,  putting  his  visit  on  a 
casual  basis,  if  he  said  that  he  happened  to  be  passing 
by?  That  would  explain  why  he  called  without  his 
wife.  And  Elijah  need  not  know;  he  did  not  want 
Elijah  to  think  he  had  infringed  on  his  patent. 

It  came  about  one  windy  afternoon  in  January.  Rolf, 
striding  up  to  the  Liliputian  house,  had  the  feeling  that 
he  was  a  giant  going  among  pygmies.  A  maid  answered 
the  door  and  showed  him  into  a  merry  little  room,  full 
of  flowers  and  fire-glow,  where,  with  his  heart  beating 
strangely,  he  waited  for  Mrs.  Burchard  to  appear.  All 
the  time  he  was  rehearsing  to  himself  like  a  lesson 
the  overture  that  he  had  planned,  "I  happened  to  be 
passing  by.  .  .  ." 


Chapter  XXIII 


HITHERTO  it  might  truthfully  have  been  said 
of  Rolf  that  his  life  was  an  "open  book." 
Direct  and  unsophisticated  as  he  was,  the  key- 
note to  his  character  was  candor.  He  had  known  but 
few  strong  passions, — his  mother,  his  business  career, 
his  love  for  Muffet  Harlow.  In  the  old  days  he  had 
formed  friendships  with  several  young  society  women  of 
Wedgewater,  who  had  found  him  peculiarly  unsuscep- 
tible to  sentiment.  But  Rolf,  though  seldom  attracted, 
was  himself  attractive  to  women  of  all  classes,  and  it- 
had  frequently  happened  that  "the  other  kind,"  "the 
wrong  kind,"  as  he  naively  thought  of  them,  had  thrown 
themselves  at  his  head.  But  from  all  youthful  entangle- 
ments his  wholesomeness  had  brought  him  clear.  There 
had  never  been  any  dire  struggle  of  opposing  forces. 
By  virtue  of  a  native  common  sense  as  canny  as  that  of 
a  young  animal  he  had  learned  what  he  wanted  and 
what  he  did  not  want. 

So,  later  on  in  life,  it  had  required  no  particular 
effort  of  will  for  him  to  keep  his  record  clear.  When 
seven  months  before,  he  had  married  Muffet  Harlow 
it  was  with  every  intention  of  being  true  to  her  in 
the  strictest  sense  of  the  word.  It  was  then  that  his 
friendships  with  the  young  Wedgewater  women  auto- 
matically ended.  He  would  have  despised  himself  for 

242 


The  Heart's  Justice  243 

the  slightest  relaxations  from  his  code  of  faith.  He 
would  have  been  horrified  at  the  idea  of  any  covert 
act  on  his  part  which  might  reflect  upon  her.  Yet  here 
was  Rolf  in  the  month  of  February  well  advanced  in 
a  clandestine  friendship  with  the  lady  on  John  Street. 
And  instead  of  feeling  remorse  for  the  direction  in 
which  he  was  drifting  he  felt  only  a  grim  satisfaction. 
He  had  not,  of  course,  the  slightest  sentimental  interest 
in  Mrs.  Burchard,  that  he  could  truthfully  say,  but  he 
found  in  her  presence  a  peculiar  balm.  He  could  not, 
for  instance,  have  formed  the  habit  of  going  to  any 
of  the  younger  women  he  had  known  in  the  same  way 
that  he  went  to  her.  They  would  have  scented  his 
unhappiness  and  sympathized  and  the  last  thing  in  the 
world  that  he  wanted  was  sympathy.  Or  they  would 
have  attributed  his  visits  to  a  surviving  personal  interest 
in  themselves  which  would  have  proven  equally  irksome. 
But  Mrs.  Burchard  was  rich  in  worldly  wisdom,  and 
asked  no  questions.  !Nor  did  she  openly  arrogate  to 
herself  such  honors.  Each  told  the  other  nothing  of 
personal  importance.  It  was  tacitly  accepted  that  Rolf's 
wife  should  be  left  out  of  it ;  and  as  tacitly  agreed  that 
Mrs.  Burchard's  private  affairs  need  not  be  brought  to 
figure  in  their  curious  companionhsip.  The  one  thing 
that  mattered  was  what  they  stood  for  to-day  and  the 
exchange  of  an  essential  benefit. 

Mrs.  Burchard  liked  men  better  than  women.  She 
said  so  with  refreshing  frankness.  She  liked  the  mas- 
culine mind,  which  was  able  to  deal  with  other  minds 
largely.  She  could  not  have  enjoyed  the  same  sort  of 
camaraderie  with  one  of  her  own  sex  that  she  enjoyed 
with  Sterling.  A  woman  would  have  first  wanted  to 
know  all  the  circumstances  of  her  life  and  have  com- 
puted her  worth  accordingly,  whereas  Sterling  was 


244  The  Heart's  Justice 

interested  only  in  what  she  could  mean  to  him.  Rhoda 
thought  Rolf  handsome  and  Vikingesque  and  admired 
his  positive  character.  But  she  took  great  care  to  feed 
him  flattery  in  small  disguised  doses.  She  exercised 
more  freely  her  talent  for  keeping  him  amused  and 
comfortable. 

As  for  Rolf  he  was  badly  in  need  of  the  schooling 
that  she  gave  him.  He  told  himself  that  his  strict 
adherence  to  all  the  old  and  narrow  prejudices  had 
brought  him  where  he  was.  He  was  not  a  man  at  all 
but  a  schoolboy.  It  was  time  he  broke  away  from  his 
brooding  beside  the  hearthstone  and  proved  to  himself 
that  he  was  not  without  value  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair 
sex,  that  a  woman  of  Mrs.  Burchard's  superior  years 
and  training  found  him  acceptable,  was  proud  of  his 
attentions. 

When  she  spoke  of  Elijah  it  was  kindly  and  indul- 
gently but  with  a  gleam  of  mischief  in  her  eye.  She 
and  Rolf  came  to  understand  one  another  very  well. 


In  the  meantime  Elijah  was  working  up  his  courage 
to  the  point  where  he  could  make  his  great  confession 
to  David.  He  was,  he  told  himself  naively,  "breaking 
it  gently."  But  how  gently  may  only  be  imagined 
when  it  is  known  that  his  hints  were  of  so  careful  a 
character  the  obtuse  David  had  not  the  slightest  sus- 
picion that  he  was  being  wrought  upon  at  all.  They 
met  each  day  in  the  factory  on  the  old  footing  save 
that  Elijah's  nervousness  had  perceptibly  increased. 

"  'Lige,"  David  would  tease  him  drolly,  "you're 
gettin'  more  like  St.  Vitus  every  day,  with  your  arms 


The  Heart's  Justice  245 

swingin'  like  windmills,  and  your  fingers  all  the  time 
digging  at  your  ribs  like  you've  got  bee-stings." 

"Not  bee-stings,  Dave,"  mourned  poor  Elijah,  and 
would  have  liked  to  add,  "but  stings  of  conscience  a 
darned  sight  worse.  Seems  like  I'm  peppered  with 
'em." 

He  had  promised  Rhoda  to  pave  the  way  for  her  but 
the  stones  that  he  set  down  were  minute.  Charity  and 
forgiveness,  he  preached  to  David,  were  the  cardinal 
virtues,  to  which  David  smiled  unsuspectingly  and  asked 
him  if  he  was  figuring  on  going  into  the  ministry. 

"It's  just  this,  Dave,"  pleaded  Elijah  swallowing, 
"you  got  to  die  some  time  and  it  behooves  you  to  set 
your  house  in  order.  You  don't  want  to  go  harboring 
no  ill-feeling  toward  any  livin'  soul " 

"Oh,  shucks,"  said  David  in  mild  irritation,  "just 
because  I  went,  like  a  fool,  and  told  you  that  nonsense 
last  summer " 

"Don't  you  go  gettin'  hoity-toity,"  recommended 
Elijah  hotly,  "even  if  you  are  holdin'  your  own !" 

"Oh,  all  right  then,  I'm  goin'  to  die,  but  don't  for 
Heaven's  sake  keep  twittin'  me  of  it,  an'  don't  go  pullin' 
any  long  faces  around  me." 

"Is  it  pullin'  a  long  face  to  remind  you  that " 

"Remind  your  granny!  No  man  can  say  I  haven't 
lived  a  good  life,"  contended  David,  and  added  scru- 
pulously, with  a  grin,  "according  to  my  lights!" 

"Then  you're  pop  sure  that  in  your  heart  o'  hearts 
you  harbor  no  grudge,  you've  forgiven  all  whoever 
trespassed  against  you — even — even  your  wife,  Dave !" 

David  started  and  frowned,  quick  to  resent  the  intru- 
sion of  what  had  always  been  a  closed  subject  between 
them.  Elijah  anticipated  that  at  last  they  had  come 
to  a  show-down,  and  his  heart  quickened  its  pace.  He 


246  The  Heart's  Justice 

thought  excitedly,  "As  well  now  as  any  time — as  well 
have  it  over  once  and  for  all — "  But  to  his  surprise 
and  chagrin  David  was  in  a  mood  of  stubborn  cheer 
that  day  where  he  refused  to  be  ruffled. 

"Oh,  as  for  that  I  forgave  her  long  ago,"  he  said 
with  an  air  of  terminating  the  talk,  but  he  added  grimly, 
"we  only  withhold  forgiveness  where  we  still  love." 

And  there  was  Elijah,  jolted,  handed  this  pithy  con- 
clusion to  digest  at  leisure.  "We  only  withhold  for- 
giveness where  we  still  love."  David's  serene  disposal 
of  the  subject  filled  him  with  foreboding.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  beg  quarter  for  one  so  far  relegated  to  the  past 
as  Rhoda  had  been.  Elijah,  all  these  years  tacitly 
sympathizing  with  his  friend's  trouble,  had  not  known 
to  what  extent  he  had  won  clear  of  it.  All  his  pre- 
conceived modus  operandi  would  have  to  be  revised 
before  it  became  practical. 

He  would  need  to  rekindle  in  David  the  old  sore 
resentment  before  he  could  plead  with  him  to  take  her 
back  into  his  heart.  He  would  need  to  approach  it 
from  that  angle.  But  when  a  man  makes  the  gesture 
of  healthy  magnanimity  as  David  had  done,  how  is 
one  to  drag  him  back  into  the  sick  welter  of  bondage  ? 
Elijah  did  not  know,  and  his  confusion  was  great. 

It  was  in  the  temperature  of  his  low  spirits  that  he 
went  to  report  to  Rhoda  that  evening,  having  stopped 
on  the  way  to  buy  her  a  peace  offering.  Now,  Elijah, 
in  his  impulse  of  giving  had  exercised  what  he  be- 
lieved to  be  discretion.  His  conviction  was  that  certain 
gifts  more  than  others  were  imbued  with  personal  sig- 
nificance. He  had  remembered  hearing  Sarah  once 
say  that  a  young  lady  of  her  acquaintance  had  com- 
promised herself  by  accepting  an  umbrella  from  a  man 
that  she  did  not  marry.  Though  it  was  continually 


The  Heart's  Justice  247 

snowing,  he  had  given  Mrs.  Burchard  no  umbrella.  But 
he  had  made  her  other  donations.  And  now  in  the  candy 
shop  he  bent  over  pink  and  yellow  bonbons  in  fluted 
papers  and  as  wisely  rejected  them.  They  suggested 
young  love.  But  there  was  peanut  brittle,  a  sturdy 
confection  for  middle  age.  He  purchased  two  pounds 
of  peanut  brittle. 

He  took  his  package  under  his  arm,  and  walking 
thriftily  to  save  car-fare,  he  made  his  way  to  the  cottage 
on  John  Street.  Great  indeed  would  have  been  his 
perturbation  could  he  have  known  that  his  faithful 
Hannah,  now  swept  clean  from  her  moorings  by  the 
fierce  gale  of  her  suspicion,  was  following  him.  All 
during  supper  that  night  had  he  betrayed  "symptoms," 
and  when  he  took  up  his  hat  to  leave,  Hannah  had  de- 
cided desperately  that  she  must  know  his  destination. 
She  had  gotten  into  her  coat,  had  donned  it  over  a  white 
kitchen  apron,  had  pinned  on  her  hat,  back  side  to, 
and  with  monstrous  audacity  had  followed  him.  Once 
he  had  entered  a  shop  and  she  had  waited  till  he  emerged 
carrying  a  bundle.  The  walk  was  interminable  and 
Hannah  was  troubled  with  chilblains  and  swollen 
ankles;  it  seemed  like  fate  that  he  should  strike  out 
at  that  smart  pace  and  never  vary  it  the  entire  way. 
But  she  bore  her  fatigue  with  the  fortitude  of  a  woman 
where  there  are  great  issues  at  stake.  And  she  saw 
with  her  two  eyes,  her  own  two  eyes,  where  he 
turned  in  at  the  gate  of  the  old  Wellington  Place.  And 
she  went  home  in  that  state  of  outraged  mind  that 
borders  on  ecstasy.  She  went  home,  mad  in  her  license, 
and  attacking  the  absent  Elijah's  desk,  read  everything 
it  contained  in  the  nature  of  a  personal  communication. 
But  there  Elijah  had  been  wary  of  his  Hannah  and  all 
the  letters  which  he  had  received  from  Mrs.  Burchard 


248  The  Heart's  Justice 

were  safely  locked  into  his  strong  box.  She  found  but 
one  tell-tale  document  to  confound  him, — his  daybook 
in  which  he  was  accustomed  to  make  entries  of  all  that 
he  spent.  There,  on  a  special  page,  under  no  head- 
ing ran  a  neat  column,  which  read  cryptically  as  follows : 

One  patent  egg-beater. 
One  canary  plus  cage. 
One  basket  fruit. 
One  electrical  foot-warmer. 

There  were  no  prices  attached  and  she  interpreted 
the  items  as  memory  notes —  When  Elijah  returned 
late  that  evening  he  went  straight  to  his  desk  as  Hannah 
had  anticipated  and  finding  the  day  book  made  in  it 
another  entry.  It  was  "peanut  brittle." 


I 


Chapter  XXIV 


second  time  that  Kolf  had  called  upon  Mrs. 
Burchard  he  had  said  in  semi-apology,  "This  is 
in  the  way  of  becoming  a  habit " 

But  later  he  had  ceased  to  apologize  for  the  impulse 
which  drew  him  there.  Her  naturalness  was  a  snare 
into  which  he  fell  easily.  He  told  himself  that  there 
was  a  big  feeling  between  them ;  he  was  uncramped  by 
the  friendship.  He  suffered  no  exactions  and  was  free 
to  remain  away  from  her  when  he  would.  True,  the 
kettle  was  always  boiling  on  her  tea  table  when  he 
called  in  the  afternoon,  but  Mrs.  Burchard  never  said 
that  she  had  been  expecting  him.  Rather  she  would 
look  up  from  her  loneliness  while  he  was  divesting  him- 
self of  his  coat  in  the  hall  and,  without  rising,  hold 
out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  surprised  exclamation  of 
pleasure,  "Ah,  Sterling !"  in  the  continental  way.  The 
high  gesture  of  her  welcome  meant  that  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  having  her  hand  kissed,  an  idea  which  Rolf 
assimilated  slowly.  But  after  he  had  learned  the  trick 
of  it  he  kissed  her  hand  each  time,  and  enjoyed  his 
own  gallantry. 

Had  his  mind  been  less  preoccupied  it  might  have 
occurred  to  him  to  wonder  strenuously  what  had  really 
brought  a  woman  of  her  type  to  Wedgewater.  Since 
she  was  careful  to  shun  her  neighbors,  and  avoided  the 

249 


250  The  Heart's  Justice 

forming  of  any  social  ties,  there  seemed  very  little 
object  in  her  settling  down  there  for  the  winter.  Her 
entirely  frank  manner  disarmed  his  curiosity,  so  too  did 
her  habit,  when  infrequently  the  conversation  became 
personal,  of  turning  it  upon  Rolf. 

"Your  wife  must  be  very  proud  of  you?"  she  said 
once,  and  noted  his  start  of  discomfort. 

"Proud  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  dare 
say,"  and  he  added  involuntarily,  "not  that  success 
means  much  to  the  Harlows 

Mrs.  Burchard's  eyes  were  lowered.  She  was  obliged 
to  curb  her  excitement  each  time  that  he  spoke  of  them. 

"How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"They  despise  the  material  standard,"  said  Rolf,  not 
without  bitterness. 

She  laughed  with  a  tinge  of  ridicule. 

"But  from  what  Elijah  has  told  me  your  father-in- 
law  has  never,  you  might  say,  made  his  mark." 

Rolf  hung  over  the  fire,  his  face  congested  by  heavy 
feeling. 

"My  father-in-law,"  he  answered,  "belongs  to  the 
old  school.  I'm  afraid  he's  been  something  of  a 
groover." 

"Ah,  there  you  have  it,"  she  exclaimed  lightly. 
"Isn't  it  the  habit  of  failure  to  disparage  success?" 

He  looked  at  her  dully,  a  numb  look  out  of  the 
subconscious. 

"That's  what  I've  sometimes  thought.  But  my  father- 
in-law  is  an  inventor.  He's  evolved  a  valve  and  valve 
gear  to  be  used  on  the  engine  we  manufacture,  given 
years  to  it.  And  now  the  company  has  about  decided 
to  take  it  over  from  him.  That's  the  kind  of  success 
that  counts  with  Muffet,  my  wife.  Not  so  much  the 


The  Heart's  Justice  251 

financial  end  of  it  as  what  the  struggle  stands  for.  Her 
father  has  always  stood  in  her  eyes  as  a  demigod." 

"What  about  Mrs.  Sterling's  mother  ?" 

Rhoda's  breath  came  hard. 

"Her  mother?  Still  living,  I  believe,  but  separated 
from  them  years  ago.  Ridiculous  as  it  seems,  I  know 
nothing  about  her.  Only — what  I  deduce " 

"And  what,"  she  asked  unevenly,  "is  that  ?" 

"That  she  was  thoroughly  unworthy,"  said  Rolf,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

"Oh!"  The  faintest  flush  was  in  her  face,  high 
under  the  roots  of  her  fair  hair.  "Mayn't  I — mayn't 
I  fill  your  cup  ?" 

Rolf  stared.     He  laughed  with  some  embarrassment. 

"If  you  will  be  so  kind.  I  wonder  how  I  got  started 
on  the  family  skeletons." 

"We  were  speaking  of  you,"  she  reminded  him,  biting 
her  lip.  "The  things  you  have  done  and  intend  doing." 

Hitherto  men  who  talked  only  business  had  seemed  to 
Rhoda  bourgeois,  but  she  derived  a  certain  stimulation, 
a  certain  vicarious  pleasure  from  Rolf's  discussion  of 
his  business  problems.  She  thrilled  to  the  muscle  of 
a  mind  at  grapple  with  sinewy  competition.  Oh,  he 
would  be  rich  and  a  power  in  that  town  before  he  died. 
If  she  had  married  a  man  of  his  acquisitive  type  she 
could  have  afforded  to  overlook  his  little  crudities.  As 
it  was,  she  still  had  the  hope  of  gaining  much  from 
Rolf.  It  would  have  been  a  blow  to  Elijah's  childlike 
obtuseness  could  he  have  known  that  the  report  of 
Sterling's  progress  was  in  the  back  of  Rhoda's  mind 
before  ever  she  came  to  Wedgewater,  the  thought  of 
benefits  accruing  were  she  to  be  reunited  with  the  fam- 
ily. David  she  despised  as  possessing  the  snobbery  of 
the  weak — but  she  would  go  mildly  back  to  David  in 


252  The  Heart's  Justice 

order  that  she  might  partake  of  the  glamor  of  that 
household.  Knowing  Sterling  as  she  now  did,  and 
secure  in  her  power  over  him,  she  felt  certain  that  he 
would  champion  her  cause.  Just  at  first  perhaps  he 
would  resent  the  trick  she  had  played — but  later  he 
would  rally  to  her  support.  He  would  look  to  her  to 
plead  his  cause  with  Muffet.  Rhoda's  divinations  were 
acute;  without  his  ever  having  confided  in  her  the 
domestic  situation,  she  knew  it  in  detail.  Rhoda  had 
been  ostracized  by  David — Muffet,  the  difficult  minx, 
had  flouted  Rolf's  affection.  It  was  highly  fitting  that 
they  should  unite.  .  .  . 


n 


One  spacious  moonlit  evening  Elijah  presented  him- 
self at  David's  house  for  the  great  confession.  He  had 
walked  out  from  Wedgewater  in  a  curious,  detached 
way,  one  pocket  bulging  with  the  bottle  of  dandelion 
wine  which  he  was  bringing  to  the  old  friend  in  whose 
personal  affairs  he  had  become  so  deeply  involved.  The 
sky  was  full  of  the  wild  shrapnel  of  stars.  Snow  lay 
underfoot,  yellow  in  the  arc  lights  of  the  street,  but 
blue  beyond  where  the  electricity  ended.  Shadows 
were  frequent  and  flowing,  blue-black  like  ink  spilled 
from  a  bottle.  The  voices  of  youngsters  sliding  down 
hill  sounded  hollow  and  musical  on  the  cold  air.  The 
bay  was  cut  clean  from  the  land  and  that  too  was 
filled  with  ink.  A  jolly  evening,  no  doubt,  to  some, 
but  to  Elijah — unspeakable.  He  trudged  on  guiltily, 
sweating  with  his  thoughts,  trying  to  get  a  wretched 
crowd  of  words  to  march  like  soldiers,  drilling  and 
drilling  them.  .  .  .  No  luck,  no  success,  always 


The  Heart's  Justice  253 

some  of  them  out  of  step.  .  .  .  Raw  recruits,  a 
derelict  army. 

He  came  to  the  Harlow  house,  now  known  as  "the 
Sterling  place,"  posing  in  the  appellation  "Elmhurst" 
like  a  pretty  woman  in  a  dowdy  hat,  he  came  to  the 
house,  saw  it  spangled  with  lights,  and  remembered 
his  long  years  of  association  with  it.  Secure  friendship, 
mutually  trusting.  That  was  what  had  been  between 
Dave  and  him.  With  trepidation  he  mounted  the  steps. 
He  had  not  troubled  to  lift  the  knocker  in  the  old 
times,  but  now  there  was  a  bell  which  might  feel 
slighted  if  he  ignored  it.  A  new,  regulation  maid  came 
to  the  door — no  longer  Vannie  lumbering  out  from 
the  kitchen  and  tying  her  apron  as  she  did  so.  The  old 
order  had  changed.  The  new,  neat  maid  showed  him 
into  the  familiar  room  which  he  accepted  with  an  air 
of  seeing  for  the  first  time.  In  deep  depression  he  sat 
down  and  waited,  and  was  only  faintly  restored  when 
David,  hatless,  with  his  coat  collar  turned  up  high,  came 
in  from  the  workshop,  a  long  scroll  of  whittlings  over 
his  shoulder.  Elijah  could  see  that  the  maid,  an  excel- 
lently trained  one,  gave  old  David  a  sniffy  look  as  he 
passed  her,  noting  the  condition  of  his  clothes  and  the 
track  his  boots  were  leaving  across  the  floor. 

Elijah  grasped  his  friend's  hand. 

"I — I  thought  I  would  drop  round  to  see  you,  Dave !" 

"So  I  see,"  was  the  genial  greeting,  "so  I  see.  Well, 
I'm  at  work,  'Lije,  and  as  I — I  don't  feel  so  much  at 
home  now  the  house  has  been  changed,  suppose  we 
step  out  to  the  shop.  We  can  visit  there." 

"Just  the  thing,"  agreed  Elijah  nervously. 

"And  I'll  go  right  on  with  what  I'm  doing,"  prom- 
ised David  informally.  "It's  some  time  since  you've 
been  over.  I'm  anxious  to  show  you  the  model  com- 


254  The  Heart's  Justice 

plete.  I'm  giving  a  demonstration  to  the  board  of 
directors  the  end  of  the  week.  Yes  sir,  'Lije,  old  boy, 
I've  got  the  thing  now  about  where  I  want  it " 

But  Elijah  had  no  intention  of  letting  him  go  off 
at  a  tangent.  To  David's  dismay  he  proved  but  an 
indifferent  audience;  for  once  he  was  dull  to  the 
beauties  of  the  smooth  mechanism.  The  effort  that  it 
had  cost  him  to  come  was  too  great. 

"See  here,  Dave,"  he  took  him  by  the  arm  at  last, 
"just  you  let  go  your  hobby  a  little  while  an'  tend 
strictly  to  me,"  and  he  led  him  toward  one  of  the 
broken,  splint-bottom  chairs  by  the  stove  where  they 
were  wont  to  smoke  their  pipes  winter  evenings. 

"Tend  to  you?"  protested  David  jocularly.  "Guess 
you  think  you're  playing  the  prima  donna  this  evening, 
eh?" 

"Primy  donny  or  nothin',  Dave,  I'm  determined  to 
thresh  out  with  you  a  thing  I've  had  in  mind  till  it's 
fair  driven  me  loony.  Now  draw  up  your  chair  and 
get  comfortable  and  promise  me  you'll  look  on't  with 
an  open  mind  an'  not  go  cuttin'  up  didoes  like  a  nervy 
boy.  Promise  me  you'll  keep  calm  and  collected." 

David  having  stuffed  tobacco  into  a  calabash  pipe, 
was  drawing  up  the  string  of  the  bag  with  his  teeth. 
His  mouth  was  very  merry,  very  sweet.  Every  line 
of  his  face  was  a  genial  and  kindly  and  humorous  one, 
and  Elijah  thought  suddenly  of  how  he  loved  his  friend, 
his  careless,  eccentric,  but  always  irresistible  companion. 

"You  must  be  goin'  to  extract  a  tooth  or  something, 
'Lije,"  chuckled  David,  "but  whatever  designs  you  may 
have  on  my  innocence,  I  promise  to  be  calm.  Calm 
now  and  collected  later — like  Murphy  was  after  the 
explosion." 


The  Heart's  Justice  255 

He  applied  a  match  to  his  pipe,  shook  it  out  and 
tossed  it  into  the  fire. 

"Well,"  he  signaled,  cocking  an  amused  eye  at  Elijah 
and  taking  the  first  long  pull,  "fire  away  with  it,  but 
don't  be  long.  I've  always  stood  out  for  quick  court- 
ship, painless  dentistry,  and  the  kind  of  photographs 
that  are  finished  while  you  wait." 

"Dave,"  sighed  Elijah,  withering  in  his  friend's 
humor,  "darned  if  you  don't  make  it  hard " 

"Come,  come,"  recommended  David,  "take  a  long 
breath,  count  three  and — "  He  broke  off,  arrested  by 
the  haunted  look  in  Elijah's  eyes.  A  feeling  of  irrita- 
tion was  gradually  growing  in  him;  he  began  really  to 
suspect  that  Elijah  was  a  messenger  of  bad  tidings. 
"See  here,"  he  burst  out  fretfully,  "is  it  something  to 
do  with  little  Miss  Muffet?" 

Elijah  shook  his  head. 

"Or  the  engine?" 

"No." 

"Then  I  don't  care,"  declared  David  with  an  assump- 
tion of  ease,  but  he  continued  to  gaze  at  Elijah  sus- 
piciously. "What's  on  your  mind?" 

"It's  a  long  story,  Dave,"  began  Elijah,  clearing  his 
voice,  which  was  raspy  of  edge  like  a  buzz-saw.  "It 
begins  back,  way  back  at  the  time  Muffet  was  mar- 
ried. .  .  ."  ' 

"Well?" 

"It  begins  with  a  letter  I  received  at  that  time." 

"You  don't  say."  David  was  tense,  leaning  forward 
on  his  elbows.  "And  who  could  have  written  you  about 
—her?" 

"Dave,"  said  Elijah  solemnly,  lowering  his  voice, 
"can't  you  guess?" 


256  The  Heart's  Justice 

"No"  jerked  out  David  nervously,  and  almost  thun- 
dered a  second  "No!" 

He  fixed  Elijah  with  a  tormented  eye. 

"Your  wife,"  whispered  Elijah,  and  went  to  pieces 
in  his  chair,  a  bundle  of  convulsive  twitchings. 

"You  mean  Ehoda  Harlow,"  amended  David  delib- 
erately. His  voice  was  loud  and  firm,  though  his  face 
had  paled  perceptibly. 

"I  mean  Ehoda  Harlow,"  repeated  Elijah  who  had 
no  mind  to  quibble  over  split  hairs.  And  he  laid  before 
David  the  import  of  her  letter. 

"Hm,"  was  the  comment,  "all  for  show." 

"But  she  continued  to  write,"  hastened  Elijah,  flush- 
ing, "she  continued  to  be  interested !" 

"You  mean  you  continued  to  correspond." 

The  deadly  directness  of  the  accusation  made  Elijah 
cower.  It  would  be  difficult,  difficult  to  explain  that 
part  of  it.  ...  It  was  difficult.  .  .  .  He 
sought  to  marshal  his  reserves,  his  trained  army  of 
words,  and  the  cowardly  recruits  were  hiding  behind 
stone  walls.  He  had  to  admit  limply  that  he  was  drawn 
into  correspondence  with  her. 

"But  for  what  purpose  ?"  David  harrowed  him,  "for 
what  purpose  ?  I  take  it  there  was  a  motive  underlying 
her — homesickness  ?" 

"The  only  motive  that  would  underlie  homesickness," 
Elijah  was  rather  proud  of  his  comeback,  "she  wanted 
to  return  home!" 

"Hah !"  The  fierce  ejaculation  from  those  mild  lips 
surprised  Elijah  more  than  profanity  would  have  done. 
David  was  out  of  his  chair  and  pacing  the  cramped 
room  in  leonine  passion.  Once  he  said,  "She  wanted 
to  come  home!"  and  opened  his  lips  to  laugh,  but  a 
thought  struck  him  between  the  brows  and  his  face 


The  Heart's  Justice  257 

went  dark  again  in  anger.  Elijah  stayed  cowering  by 
the  stove  in  his  low  chair,  his  hand  drawn  low  between 
his  shoulders  like  that  of  a  hunch-back,  his  fingers 
crawling  up  and  down  the  arms  of  his  chair.  Once  he 
protested  stoutly, 

"If  that's  how  you  take  it,  Dave  Harlow,  you  need 
expect  to  hear  no  more  from  me.  You're  the  judge 
and  jury  and  executioner  in  one.  .  .  ." 

"I'm.  the  administrator  of  my  own  affairs,"  the  other 
warned  from  his  pacing,  but  when  the  two  had  come  to  a 
deadlock  David  returned  to  his  chair  and  sat  down 
wearily.  "What  now?  What  came  of  her  wheedling? 
— for  of  course  she  wheedled.  I  could  even  tell  you  the 
angle  she  took.  You  see  I  know  her  so  well." 

"Ah,  Dave,"  mourned  his  friend,  "I  had  no  idea  you 
were  so  bitter.  God  forgive  me  if  I've  acted  against 
you." 

They  sat  forward  in  their  chairs,  a  growing  recogni- 
tion of  trouble  showing  in  their  eyes. 

"You  must  remember,"  pleaded  Elijah,  "that  I  never 
had  any  of  the  facts  of  the  quarrel  between  you,  nothing 
authentic.  I  knew  that  at  first  you  suffered,  Dave, 
suffered  hard,  before  Muffet  was  old  enough  to  be  of 
comfort.  How  could  I  guess  that  all  your  old  feeling 
for  Rhoda  had  died?" 

"Did  I  act,  did  I  look  like  a  man  mourning  his 
wife  ?"  demanded  David  harshly.  "No,  because  it  was 
borne  in  upon  me  gradually  that  in  honesty  of  intention 
she  had  never  been  my  wife,  only  an  unscrupulous 
adventuress  going  from  incident  to  incident.  When 
I  realized  that,  I  was  able  to  put  her  from  me  alto- 
gether. Then  too  I  had  Muffet  The  laws  of  compen- 
sation are  kind." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Elijah  with  a  touch  of  cynicism,  "it 


258  The  Heart's  Justice 

has  all  turned  out  very  well  for  you.  But  consider,  if 
you  please,  what  exile  has  done  for  Rhoda.  After  all, 
she  is  still  legally  your  wife,  the  woman  you  vowed  to 
protect " 

"Elijah,"  said  David  gravely,  "you  are  an  orthodox 
churchman — I  am  not.  I  say  'wife'  fiddlesticks !  It 
so  happens  that  by  a  technicality  of  law  she  still  bears 
the  name  'Harlow,'  and  I've  seen  to  it  all  these  years 
that  she  wanted  for  nothing  in  the  way  of  material 
comforts.  I've  denied  myself  of  every  luxury,  and 
worse  than  all,  I've  denied  my  child  for  her —  His 
voice  rose  trembling,  "but  I  don't  pretend  that  it  was 
for  love.  No,  it  was  to  keep  her  selfishness  content, 
and  away  from  us,  away  from  Muffet.  I  couldn't  risk 
the  contagion  of  her  influence,  'Lije,  I  couldn't  risk 
that  with  my  daughter.  You  must  have  seen  how  care- 
fully at  first  I  corrected  the  false  standards  that  were 
her  heritage  from  her  mother.  You  must  have  seen 
how  I  taught  her  to  despise  luxury  as  effete,  to  abhor 
deception  and  show,  never  to  be  taken  in  by  the  glitter- 
ing thing,  never  to  become  self-seeking." 

To  Elijah's  mind  appeared  the  picture  of  Rhoda 
Harlow,  low-voiced  and  elegant,  beside  her  tea-table, 
and  in  simple  infatuation  he  dwelt  upon  her  candid 
utterances,  her  wistful  plea  for  reinstatement.  This 
Rhoda  whom  David  described  was  certainly  another 
woman,  the  figure  of  a  warped  imagination.  Elijah 
held  up  a  protesting  hand,  light  breaking  in  his  eyes. 

"Suppose  I  prove  to  you,"  he  proposed  rashly,  "that 
you're  unjust,  that  you've  dwelt  on  her  faults  till  she's 
come  to  seem  a  monstrous  woman  in  your  eyes,  even 
physically  distorted." 

His  earnestness  wrung  a  laugh  from  David. 

"Oh,  Elijah,  my  innocent!    As  if  I  didn't  know  all 


The  Heart's  Justice  259 

about  her  fine,  delicate  pose  of  an  aristocrat — 
You'll  have  to  show  me  something  that  goes  deeper." 

"Her  real  friendlessness  then." 

"The  traitor  is  ever  without  friends n 

"Then  that's  the  only  reply  you  have  for  her.  Then 
I  can  go  to  her  to-night  and  tell  her " 

"To-night  ?"  David  flew  at  the  word  and  held  it  for 
verification.  Great  beads  of  perspiration  bedewed  his 
forehead  as  he  got  slowly  out  of  his  chair.  His  broad- 
shouldered,  slouchy  figure  in  its  ill-fitting  clothes 
seemed  to  sway  and  tower  over  that  of  his  friend, 
diminutive  in  his  seat  by  the  stove.  "Where,"  he  asked 
"is  Rhoda  Harlow  ?"  and  hung  above  Elijah  like  a  dark 
cloud. 

The  moment  lengthened  into  an  eternity;  Elijah's 
eyes  strained  from  his  head,  his  mouth  sagged  open, 
beseeching  time,  but  David  was  in  no  mood  to  yield 
quarter. 

"Where,"  he  demanded  a  second  time,  "is  Khoda 
Harlow?" 

And  the  other,  in  mortal  terror  for  his  soul,  pro- 
nounced the  two  words,  "In  Wedgewater."  After  a 
little  he  besought,  like  a  child,  "Please,  please,  will  you 
listen,  will  you  believe  she  insisted  upon  coming  and  I 
did  no  more  than  promise  to  speak  to  you,  I  did  no  more 
than  that,  and  the  whole  thing's  been  a  cross  to  me> 
Dave,  a  terrible  cross.  .  .  ." 

But  the  miserable  scuttling  words  had  not  even  pene> 
trated  the  other's  consciousness,  which  had  stopped 
assimilating  with  the  shock  of  the  first  statement. 
Rhoda  Harlow  was  in  Wedgewater.  After  a  time  he 
got  a  little  further  in  his  comprehension, — Elijah  had 
brought  her  there,  been  her  tool.  Elijah  saw  in  his  face 
the  revelation  of  his  horror,  saw  that  he  believed  him- 


260  The  Heart's  Justice 

self  betrayed,  and  burst  out  again  with  hot  tears  sting- 
ing his  eyes. 

"I  only  thought  if  you  could  see  her — you  could 
afford  to  be  generous.  And  you  have  told  me  yourself 
that  your  days  are  numbered " 

"Ay,"  said  David  dully,  nodding  his  heavy  head,  his 
eyes  bloodshot,  "be  that  as  it  may,  I'll  die  with  no  Jeze- 
bel in  my  home.  I'll  see  that  my  daughter  lives 
uncontaminated !" 

In  the  intensity  of  his  feeling  he  reached  down  and 
gripped  Elijah  by  the  shoulder. 

"Do  you  know  that  in  coming  here  she  has  broken 
her  promise,  violated  the  compact  we  made  when  I  let 
her  keep  the  name  of  Harlow,  when  she  hadn't  a  shred 
of  reputation  ?  It  was  all  that  I  asked  of  her  in  return 
for  my  name  and  my  support — that  she  should  stay 
away  and  leave  Muffet  to  me.  She  was  glad  to  take  that 
oath,  I  can  tell  you."  His  face  had  gone  old  and  ashen, 
and  he  was  trembling  all  over  like  one  in  palsy. 

"But  she  came  under  the  name  of  Burchard,"  mur- 
mured Elijah  wonderingly.  "I  was  given  to  understand 
that " 

"She  was  careful  to  rouse  no  suspicion,"  interrupted 
Harlow.  "That  would  be  Bhoda,  famous  for  her 
aliases.  Well,  I  tell  you  they  don't  interest  me."  He 
took  a  fresh  grip  of  Elijah's  shoulder,  his  fingers  pene- 
trating fiercely  into  the  flabby  muscle  till  an  expression 
of  pain  contorted  the  little  man's  face.  "As  for  you," 
he  said  with  grim  amusement,  "do  you  know  what  your 
fate  will  be  when  Bhoda's  through  with  you,  when 
she's  had  her  will  of  you  and  wrung  you  dry  ?" 

Elijah  shook  his  head.  His  mouth  opened  wanly 
like  that  of  a  goldfish. 

"No,"  he  admitted  miserably,  "what?" 


The  Heart's  Justice  261 

"She'll  kick  you  daintily  into  Kingdom  Come,"1 
David's  laugh  was  terrible  and  uproarious,  "as  she  did 
me,  as  she  has  all  the  men  and  women  who  ever  lent 
themselves  to  her  schemes  of  aggrandizement." 

He  released  Elijah  with  one  contemptuous  shove 
which  sent  him,  chair  and  all,  careening. 

"But  to  think  she  remembered  you,  the  butt  of  jests, 
you,  Elijah  Moore,  dirt  under  her  feet — "  He  contin- 
ued to  laugh  till  his  mirth  took  the  turn  of  melancholy. 
"And  to  think  that  you,  Elijah,  my  friend,  my  brother, 
all  these  years  so  close  to  my  heart " 

He  broke  off  laboring  for  breath. 

"Well,  it's  finished  to-day.  Get  out  of  here.  Go 
and  tell  her — "  He  choked  between  tears  and  laugh- 
ter, a  drunken  light  in  his  eyes,  "Go  and  tell  her  what 
I've  said  to  you." 

All  at  once  he  was  obliged  to  lean  against  the  wall. 

"But,  Dave,"  cried  Elijah  in  heart-break,  "you  can't 
turn  me  out,  like  this,  after  all  these  years.  You  can't 
turn  me  out." 

He  crept  closer,  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  one  suppli- 
cating hand  outheld.  But  David  struck  it  down  with  a 
brilliant  smile. 

"I  want  none  of  your  friendship,  Elijah  Moore,  and 
none  of  you.  Are  you  going  to  stay  where  you're  not 
wanted  ?" 

He  leaned  panting  against  the  wall. 

"But,  Dave,  I  never  meant  to  hurt  you " 

"Leave  this  house,"  bellowed  David,  "get  out  of  it. 
Do  you  hear  ?  I  never  want  to  see  you  again  so  long  as 
I  live." 

And  there  was  moonlight  on  snow,  and  across  its 
pitiless  illumination  Elijah  went,  brokenly,  a  little  old 
man,  sobbing.  .  .  . 


Chapter  XXV 


ON"  the  eve  of  the  day  set  for  the  final  demonstra- 
tion of  David's  patent  Rolf  returned  from  the 
factory  to  find  father  and  daughter  in  a  state  of 
suppressed  excitement.  Muffet  had  spent  the  entire 
afternoon  with  her  father  in  the  shop,  sharing  his  hopes 
and  anxiety.  When  they  came  to  the  dinner  tahle  they 
had  themselves  well  in  hand,  but  it  was  this  very  look  of 
immense  reservation  that  smote  upon  Rolf  powerfully. 
True,  it  was  he  who  had  put  the  inventor  in  the  way  of 
being  successful  but  that  had  happened  long  ago,  be- 
fore the  inception  of  his  real  grievance  against  the 
other.  He  had  befriended  David  Harlow  and  in  return 
what  had  David  Harlow  done  for  him?  Continued  to 
live  coolly  along  beside  them,  demanding  and  receiving 
all  the  love  that  Muffet  had  to  give,  by  sly  ridicule  often 
making  it  seem  that  Rolf,  and  his  place  in  the  commu- 
nity, were  worthless  according  to  his  own  exquisite 
standards. 

If  the  invention,  a  major  one  of  its  kind,  were  taken 
over,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  doubt  but  that  it  would 
be,  David  might  be  made  independent  for  the  rest  of  his 
life.  Rolf  could  no  longer  triumph  by  dint  of  accom- 
plishment. Success  is  symbolic;  if  father  and  daugh- 
ter had  felt  his  condescension  David's  triumph  would 
reinstate  them  with  themselves,  and  Rolf  thought,  "The 

262 


The  Heart's  Justice  263 

old  man  will  go  then.  Who  knows  but  he  planned  it 
from  the  first,  using  my  shoulders  as  a  platform  ?  Who 
knows  but  he'll  take  her  from  me  ?" 

When  the  meal  was  ended  David  excused  himself  and 
returned  to  the  shop.  Muffet,  with  vagrant  eyes,  fol- 
lowed Rolf  into  the  pretty  living  room  whose  light 
walls  were  pink  with  fire-glow  like  the  inside  of  a  shell. 
They  moved  to  the  two  chairs  before  the  fire  and  sat 
down  in  them,  Muffet  nervous  and  unnatural,  Rolf, 
thinking  irritably. 

"She  hopes  I'll  go  out.  Married  less  than  a  year. 
What  a  life !" 

He  turned  hot,  inquisitorial  eyes  upon  her,  noting 
for  the  first  time  that  she  had  not  dressed  for  evening 
as  was  her  custom  but  still  wore  a  boyish  frock  of  serge 
narrowly  belted  in  gray  leather.  At  the  neck  it  rolled 
back  jauntily  in  gladness  for  just  the  kind  of  throat 
that  was  hers,  strong,  yet  slender  with  a  clear  defined 
chin.  Her  hair  was  swept  heroically  from  her  brow  as 
though  she  had  brushed  it  back  in  a  gesture  of  thought. 
She  felt  Rolf's  look  upon  her  and  apologized  hastily. 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  like  this  dress  for  evening. 
I  should  have  changed  but  I  stayed  in  the  shop  too  late." 

"The  dress  is  well  enough,"  he  answered  coldly, 
thinking  how  he  adored  her  in  it,  thinking  how  he  loved 
her  hands  out  of  the  tight  cuffs,  hands  that  stayed 
brown  all  the  year  and  suggested  gardens  and  beaches, 
but  never  ballrooms,  thinking  how  he  wanted  to  put 
his  head  in  her  lap  and  kiss  them. 

"Well,  to-morrow's  the  day,"  he  observed  idly  for  the 
pain  of  seeing  her  blush  and  brighten. 

"The  day  our  ship  comes  in.  I  shan't  sleep  a  wink, 
I  know." 

"I  daresay  you'll  be  very  anxious." 


264  The  Heart's  Justice 

"But  there  isn't  a  doubt  really — "  she  turned  her 
radiant  face  upon  him.  "Say  you  don't  think  there's  a 
doubt,  Kolf !" 

He  appeared  to  ponder. 

"After  all,  how  can  I  say  ?  I  sometimes  feel  I  can 
hardly  comprehend  what  the  whole  thing  means  to 
you " 

"Means  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  played  with  her  cruelly,  "what  if  it  doesn't 
go  through  ?" 

"Oh,"  she  moaned,  clasping  her  hands  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  thought 

"We'd  go  on  just  the  same,"  he  urged  smoothly. 
"We  have  everything  we  need,  you  and  I,  and  we  make 
a  home  for  your  father.  After  all  he's  an  old  man 

She  stared  at  him  in  pain,  the  fires  of  her  vitality 
gone  low. 

"I  suppose-r-we — would,"  she  nodded  almost  life- 
lessly. 

There  was  a  silence  while  he  gazed  into  the  fire,  his 
fears  racing,  his  senses  tingling  to  know  the  worst,  to 
be  hurt  himself  or  to  inflict  hurt  upon  her,  anything 
that  would  clarify  the  fog  of  their  relationship. 

"On  the  other  hand,"  he  rallied  her  with  a  loud  sud- 
denness, "you  stand  every  chance  to  win,  nine  out  of 
ten,  I'll  say,  and  if  this  is  the  dearest  wish  of  your 
heart,  then  it's  more  than  likely  you'll  walk  crowned 
with  it.  I  believe  it  means  more  to  you  than  anything 
I  ever  have  or  ever  shall  be  able  to  give  you " 

"Oh,  Rolf,"  she  protested  painfully,  and  arranging 
her  words  with  care,  "it's  just  that  Father  needs  suc- 
cess to  round  out  his  life ;  he  thinks  he  needs  it  in  order 
to  justify  my  faith  in  him.  Can't  you  see  ?  Then  too 


The  Heart's  Justice  265 

we  won't  feel  such — such — "  she  searched  for  a  word 
and  culled  an  unfortunate  one,  "such  dependents !" 

His  face  burned  excruciatingly. 

"Is  it  natural,  normal  for  a  woman  to  resent  her  hus- 
band's support?"  he  burst  out  in  passion,  all  his  sus- 
picions, his  suppressed  anger  gaining  headway  over  his 
control. 

"Perhap  not,"  she  answered  with  a  troubled  look. 

"But  you  do  admit  that's  how  you  feel.  At  the  bot- 
tom of  all  your  anxiety  about  the  engine  is — is  the  hope 
of  a  way  to  end  obligations,"  and  to  himself  he  groaned, 
"Oh,  God,  oh,  God,  oh,  God.  ISTow,  she'll  say  it  isn't  so 
—and  I'll  know  it's  a  lie,"  but  as  he  waited  sweat 
bathed  his  body.  "What  if  she  says  it  is?" 

Muffet  presented  the  picture  of  the  finely  wrought 
woman,  to  whom  inharmonious  crises  spell  deepest  pain, 
but  the  kind  of  woman  who  fights  the  more  valiantly  for 
her  disinclination.  Alone  amid  principles,  she  is  sex- 
less and  unafraid,  she  is  a  principle,  and  the  man  fears 
that  formidable  beauty  in  her  eyes  for  that  it  is  become 
her  matchless  weapon.  They  are  unequal  in  the  com- 
bat. The  man's  fight  is  passionately  personal;  the 
woman's,  strangely  enough,  one  of  ethics. 

"Rolf,  I'm  sorry  that  I  put  it  crudely,"  it  was  Muf- 
fet's  voice,  Muffet's  mind  making  great  decisions.  "I 
hate  hurting  you,  but  since  you  insist  on  discussing  our 
personal  problems  let's  do  it  fairly.  You  have  just  said 
that  it  isn't  normal  for  a  woman  to  resent  her  husband's 
support,  and  I  suppose  the  answer  is  that  in  normal 
marriages  the  woman  never  does.  I  don't  know  much 
about  marriage  in  general  but  my  intuition  tells  me 
that  there  is  something  quite  wrong  with  ours."  She 
shook  her  head  ruefully,  "quite,  quite  wrong." 


266  The  Heart's  Justice 

"I'm  not  ready  to  agree  to  that."  His  protest  was 
acute. 

She  gave  him  a  measuring  look. 

"You're  afraid  to  be  honest.  No,  Rolf,  each  of  us  is 
in  a  false  position.  You  have  thought  all  along  that, 
because  I  gave  no  sign,  I  was  content  with  the  muddle, 
or  that  I  didn't  understand  how  horribly  we've  failed. 
I  have  understood  better  than  you  think.  I've  known 
you  were  keenly  disappointed.  I've  known  I  made  you 
no  adequate  return  as  a  wife.  And  it's  not  as  though 
I  haven't  tried.  In  the  beginning  I'm  sure  that  both  of 
us  did.  Perhaps  that  was  the  mistake  we  made,  trying 
so  hard  when  we  should  have  felt  easy  and  effortless." 
She  spoke  in  slow  travail.  "I  don't  know  how  to  ex- 
plain it,  Rolf,  without  that  wretched  word  'incompati- 
bility' they  use  in  divorce  proceedings " 

"Stop,"  he  almost  shouted. 

She  made  a  sad  little  mouth  and  broke  into  hysteria. 
"We  don't  think  the  same  about  anything,  people  or 
God  or — or  cats !" 

Her  laughter  stung  him  to  frenzy.  Something  told 
him  that  she  would  go  on  explaining  and  expounding  a 
remedy — bitter  medicine  for  him  to  drink.  He  dared 
not  let  her  go  on,  nor  would  he  permit  her  to  see  how  it 
was  with  him.  So  he  got  out  of  his  chair  with  a  pitiable 
dignity,  towered  above  her  and  spluttered  in  anger, 

"I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  enough  for  one  eve- 
ning !  I  think  I  prefer  to  go  where  a  different  sort  of 
welcome  awaits  me.  It  never  occurred  to  you,  I  sup- 
pose, that  there  may  be  other  women  to  whom  my  so- 
ciety is  not — distasteful  ?" 

"Other  women,  Rolf?"  The  idea  seemed  strange  to 
her.  When  their  relationship  had  been  most  strained 
it  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  think  that  she  might  find 


The  Heart's  Justice  267 

solace  in  the  companionship  of  another  man.  A  deli- 
cate color  crept  painfully  into  her  cheeks.  At  last  she 
nodded,  "I  see.  That  is  what  would  happen,"  and  she 
brooded  deeper  in  her  chair,  nodding  like  a  child  ac- 
customing itself  to  a  harsh  fact.  "That  is  what  would 
happen,"  she  repeated  again. 

"Of  course,"  said  Rolf,  studying  her,  and  laughed. 
"That  is  what  always  happens !"  and  he  went  into  the 
hall  and  began  getting  briskly  into  his  coat. 

But  Muffet  did  not  follow  him.  She  remained  in  her 
seat  by  the  fire,  turning  over  in  her  mind  the  difficult 
knowledge.  "Rolf — other  women."  Her  aversion  to 
the  idea  was  one  unrelated  to  jealousy.  It  had  to  do 
with  an  immaculate  pride  and  the  humanitarian  feel- 
ing that  he  needed  to  be  saved  from  himself.  Several 
times  she  made  as  though  to  rise  but  resisted  the  im- 
pulse. And  presently  he  was  gone.  She  heard  the 
closing  of  the  outer  door  and  Rolf's  car  as  it  left  the 
garage. 


There  was  no  mistake  about  it.  The  small  scuttling 
figure  which  Rolf  overtook  at  Mrs.  Burchard's  gate  was 
Elijah  Moore.  Although  the  hour  was  early  he  had 
paid  his  call  and  was  leaving.  It  was  obvious  that, 
recognizing  Rolf,  he  had  no  mind  to  be  detained  by  him. 
It  seemed  to  Rolf  also  that  his  flying  coat-tails  and  his 
windy  pace  indicated  something  more  than  his  usual 
nervousness.  But  oddest  of  all  was  the  thing  he  carried 
in  his  hand,  some  circular  encumbrance  shrouded  in 
what  appeared  to  be  a  dark  shawl.  As  Rolf  watched 
him  skimming  along  like  a  witch  on  a  broom  stick  it 
occurred  to  him  for  the  first  time  to  wonder  about  the 


268  The  Heart's  Justice 

friendship  between  the  worldly  woman  and  the  flimsy 
little  man.  Since  they  had  no  tastes  in  common  there 
must  exist  a  special  motive  for  their  meetings  but  one 
which,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  imagine.  Ab- 
sorbed in  his  conjectures,  he  momentarily  forgot  the 
object  of  his  own  visit  Then  his  soreness  returned 
and  shrugging  a  mental  shoulder  he  stepped  recklessly 
to  the  sidewalk. 

Still  smarting  with  the  memory  of  the  scene  at  home, 
he  was  in  desperate  need  of  solace.  He  thought  of 
Mrs.  Burchard  and  her  femininity  hungrily  and  he 
came  to  her  without  reservation.  As  he  waited  on  the 
windy  step  the  gale  of  his  grievances  swept  over  him 
and  he  felt  his  face  hot  and  angry,  his  eyes  seared  like 
eyes  that  have  felt  the  sting  of  sand.  The  minutes 
seemed  hours.  Then  Mrs.  Burchard's  maid  opened  the 
door. 

"Please,  she's  not  in,"  she  said  with  palpable  false- 
hood, then  amended  blandly,  "at  least  she's  not  seeing 
any  one  else  this  evening." 

Kolf  s  face  fell. 

"But  she  might  make  an  exception  of  me,  don't  you 
think  ?"  His  innocent  vanity  reasserted  itself.  "Any- 
how, if  you  don't  mind,  I'd  like  her  to  know  I'm  here." 

The  maid  appeared  uncertain. 

"I'll  tell  her  what  you  say,  Sir,"  and  she  left  him 
in  the  hall. 

He  waited,  with  a  sense  of  desolation,  thinking  he 
could  not  bear  it  if  he  were  turned  away  from  the  house 
where  he  had  received  always  the  securest  welcome. 
But  the  maid  returned  with  smiles. 

"She  says  she  will  see  you,  Sir,  if  you  will  wait." 

"Thanks."  He  took  off  his  coat  and  lounged  fa- 
miliarly into  the  shallow,  unpretentious  room,  all  wicker 


The  Heart's  Justice  269 

and  chintz  coverings.  Although  he  could  not  have  told 
in  just  what  way,  it  bore  marks  of  a  recent  interview. 
As  he  waited,  identifying  with  pleasure  each  familiar 
object,  he  noticed  that  the  canary  cage,  once  conspicu- 
ous in  the  window,  was  gone.  Perhaps  the  little  honey- 
colored  singer  had  died.  Then  he  recalled  the  bulky 
object  that  Elijah  Moore  had  been  carrying  down  the 
street. 

When  Mrs.  Burchard  entered  it  was  with  her  accus- 
tomed grace  but  a  new  and  indefinable  something  in  her 
manner  kindred  to  his  own  high-keyed  state  of  mind. 
He  saw  at  once  that  something  had  happened  to  ruffle 
her,  to  strain  that  even  tenor  of  breeding  habitual  with 
her.  Also  that,  being  unusually  pale  perhaps,  she  had 
used  a  little  make-up  on  her  cheeks  and  lips.  She  looked 
brilliant  with  a  hard  animation,  she  looked  as  Rolf 
might  have  looked  that  evening  had  he  been  a  woman 
taking  his  humiliation  in  the  same  way.  He  thought 
that  it  was  a  curious  coincidence  finding  her  so ;  he  was 
morbid  to  exaggerate  the  bond  between  them. 

He  took  Mrs.  Burchard's  hand  and  kissed  it  and  she 
sensed  in  his  silent  salute  his  great  unhappiness,  the 
more  poignant  in  that  his  nature  was  inarticulate.  But 
to-night  he  was  fevered  to  talk — he  must  talk  or  go  out 
of  his  senses  through  fear  and  self-pity. 

"This  is  a  surprise,"  she  said  with  light  irony  when 
they  were  seated  on  the  chintz-covered  divan  under  the 
umbrella  lamp.  She  indicated  the  low  stand  before 
them  whereon  was  always  a  choice  of  foreign  or  do- 
mestic cigarettes,  and  to-night  liqueur  in  a  pair  of  lus- 
trous gold  decanters. 

"This  is  a  surprise,"  she  repeated,  at  his  nod,  filling 
a  little  glass  with  Benedictine.  "If  I  recall  this  is  the 
first  of  your  precious  evenings  vouchsafed  to  me. 


270  The  Heart's  Justice 

'What  says  the  married  man  ?' '  It  was  proof  of  her 
lawless  mood  that  she  dared  deal  in  sarcasm,  proof  of 
his  that  he  showed  no  resentment. 

He  drank  rather  than  sipped  the  liqueur. 

"That  he's  not  so  much  married  as  he  thought,"  was 
the  wry  answer.  He  relinquished  the  frail  glass  and 
found  a  cigarette  with  fumhling  fingers.  She  was 
whimsical  to  light  it  for  him. 

"No  ?"  her  lips  curled  in  amusement.  "To  discover 
the  exact  extent  to  which  one  is  married  is  always  amus- 
ing, is  it  not  ?  Have  you  come  to  tell  me  about  it  ?" 

"No,"  said  Sterling,  but  rested  his  harrassed  eyes 
upon  her,  her  grace  and  audacity  assuaging  him.  "You 
— wouldn't — understand — Oh  the  devil,  I  don't  mean 
that  at  all.  I  mean  of  course  that  you  would  under- 
stand better  than  any  one  in  the  world,  but  that  I  can't 
tell  you  because  I  don't  know.  Besides  I'd  feel  a 
rotter." 

She  looked  at  him  almost  with  a  wild  gayety. 

"Sterling,"  she  said,  in  the  new,  daring  vein,  "you 
are  a  dull  dog  and  I  adore  you !"  She  threw  back  her 
head  and  laughed.  "You  are  the  stupidest  man  I  know 
and  the  best  looking.  Is — is  your  wife  so  unintelli- 
gent?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  confused  and  beaten  eyes. 
Her  perceptions  disconcerted  him.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  pathetically  anxious  for  her  sympathy.  Oh,  she 
was  a  woman,  omniscient,  and  his  manhood  had  been 
so  punished. 

"My  wife  doesn't  love  me,"  he  blurted,  his  flesh  heavy 
with  sorrow,  his  forehead,  his  brooding  hands  full  of 
blood.  And  he  added  oddly,  "What  shall  I  do  ?" 

Mrs.  Burchard  ceased  laughing  and  appeared  to 
ponder. 


The  Heart's  Justice  271 

"Perhaps  she  comes  of  an  unloving  race,"  she  haz- 
arded the  guess,  taking  a  cigarette  for  counsel.  "What 
are  they  like,  these  Harlows,  pere  et  fille,  what  is  she 
like,  this  unintelligent  wife  of  yours  ?"  and  settled  her- 
self for  sleek  enjoyment.  "Do  you  know,"  she  went 
into  a  drawl,  "I  doubt  if  I've  even  heard  her  name." 

"Her  name  is  Muffet." 

"Very  quaint,  very  pretty,  but  her  real  name,  I 
mean,"  and  as  he  stared  at  her  without  answering,  "of 
course  that's  just  a  love-name,  given  her  when  she  was 
a  child,  but  she  must  have  another." 

Rolf  was  troubled. 

"I've  never  heard  it." 

"But  you  dear,  dull  person — "  She  put  her  hand 
affectionately  over  his,  and  he  found  it  a  comfort,  would 
not  let  it  go. 

"I've  never  heard  any  other,"  he  repeated,  mystified. 

"Not  by  any  chance  the  name  'Rhoda'  ?" 

There  was  a  welling  humor  in  her  eyes  which  he  did 
net  understand,  did  not  understand  at  all. 

"No,"  he  said,  "that  name's  new  to  me.  Whose  is 
it?" 

She  laughed  carelessly. 

"It  happens  to  be  mine.  I  was  thinking  what  a  great 
coincidence  if  it  was  also  hers." 

He  looked  at  her  bef  oggedly. 

"I  don't  quite  see  how  that  could  be.  No,  her  name's 
Muffet." 

Mrs.  Burchard  controlled  the  ineffable  little  joke 
she  was  having  with  herself.  She  turned  it  into 
whimsy.  "Little  Miss  Muffet,  she  sat  on  a  tuffet  eating 
her  curds  and  whey,"  and  she  repeated  the  old  nursery 
rhyme,  adding  with  a  sigh,  "My  sympathies  are  en- 
tirely with  the  spider,  my  sympathies  are  with  you,  my 


272  The  Heart's  Justice 

poor  Sterling.  I'm  sure  you've  done  nothing  but  try 
to  be  sociable." 

Sterling  winced. 

"It's  all  very  well  to  be  facetious,"  lie  objected,  "but 
in  reality  there's  no  comic  element  in  it,"  and  with 
entire  innocence  he  told  her  of  the  Harlows,  from  the 
beginning  to  the  present  phase  of  his  association  with 
them.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  emanci- 
pated from  self-consciousness;  a  sluice  gate  had  been 
lowered  and  the  freshet  was  escaping.  He  dwelt  upon 
the  grief  that  his  father-in-law  had  robbed  him  of  his 
wife's  affection  by  superimposing  himself  upon  her 
vision  as  the  greater  man  of  the  two. 

"When  this  invention  of  his  is  taken  over  there'll  be 
no  question  of  who  stands  first  in  her  eyes.  Oh,  don't 
you  see  ?"  he  appealed  urgently.  "She'll  be  lost  to  me 
for  good." 

Mrs.  Burchard  nodded  abstractedly. 

The  look  in  his  eyes  was  so  stricken  that  it  embold- 
ened her  to  any  venture. 

"My  poor  Sterling,  I  see  what  you  mean.  I  see  ex- 
actly what  you  mean.  No,  you  must  hold  on  to  her, 
you  must  make  yourself  first !" 

She  sat  upright  with  a  vivid  energy,  her  cheeks  taking 
on  color  beneath  their  superficial  rouge. 

"You  say  this  love  you  have  for  her  is  bigger  than 
other  considerations  ?" 

He  nodded,  brooding  into  the  fire,  his  hands  corded 
about  his  knees. 

"And  when,"  asked  Mrs.  Burchard  softly,  "will  the 
business  of  David  Harlow  be  decided  ?" 

"To-morrow.  Oh,  there's  not  a  question  that  his 
work  is  valid.  It  fills  a  long-felt  need.  It  will  revolu- 
tionize the  manufacture  of  our  type  of  engine." 


The  Heart's  Justice  273 

A  fierce  excitement  lit  her  face ;  her  slender  hand  in 
its  fragile  sleeve  of  chiffon  stiffened  in  his. 

"Sterling,"  she  said  unevenly,  "something  must  be 
done  about  to-morrow." 

"Done?" 

"Something  must  be  done." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand  you." 

"It  ought,"  she  breathed,  "to  be  simple  enough.  If 
you  could  effect  a  delay — bring  about  even  a  slight  post- 
ponement by  causing  something  to  go  wrong  with  the 
model " 

She  was  so  close  to  him  that  he  could  feel  her  warm, 
conspirational  breath  on  his  cheek.  She  smelled  of 
jasmine  and  her  very  words  seemed  disguised  in  fra- 
grance. They  affected  him  insidiously.  For  a  moment 
he  was  conscious  only  of  a  slipping,  an  easy  slipping 
into  some  realm  of  drugged  security.  Out  of  its  toils 
he  sprang  in  fictitious  rage. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  suggesting  ?  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  you  think  me  capable  of  such  an  act?" 

He  was  on  his  feet  before  her,  working  himself  into 
a  suitable  passion. 

"Let  me  tell  you  that  you  make  a  grave  mistake." 
He  thrust  his  fingers  into  his  collar  as  though  seeking 
greater  latitude  for  his  indignation.  He  appeared  to 
regard  her  severely.  "I  can't  believe  that  this  thought 
comes  from  you." 

But  Mrs.  Burchard  remained  imperturbable.  She 
leaned  back  against  her  cushions  with  a  sleepy  smile  in 
her  eyes  and  along  her  lips.  Not  once  did  she  move 
or  vary  her  expression  the  while  he  was  raving.  Nor 
did  she  allow  herself  to  be  stabbed  by  a  word.  Having 
planted  her  one  little  seed  in  the  man's  sick  mind,  she 
stayed  content. 


274  The  Heart's  Justice 

"That,"  wound  up  Sterling,  "would  be  resorting  to 
methods  I  scorn  to  use.  I  see  that  you  entirely  misun- 
derstood me  and  as  there  is  nothing  further  to  be  said 
I  think  I  shall  be  going." 

Sleepily  she  smiled.  Her  smile  was  a  penetration. 
He  rioted  against  it  but  could  not  make  it  go  in.  He 
betook  himself  to  the  hall  and  humped  into  his  coat. 
He  turned  back  for  another  look,  still  virtue  manifest. 
Mrs.  Burchard  lolled  serenely.  And  as  he  opened  the 
outer  door  he  heard  her  sardonic  chant, 

"The  stupidest  man  I  know  and  the  best  looking." 


Chapter  XXVI 


THE  house  appeared  somnolent  when  Rolf  re- 
turned to  it.  No  light  showed  save  the  one  left 
burning  for  him  in  the  downstairs  hall.  Muffet, 
her  father  and  the  servants  had  retired.  He  stood  in 
the  dampish  night  after  putting  his  car  in  the  garage, 
and  looked  up  at  the  windows,  saying  to  himself  with  a 
sneer,  "Birdwood,  Elmhurst  .  .  .  Elmhurst,  not  Bird- 
wood.  Well,  what  does  either  of  them  signify?"  He 
felt  stunned  by  his  sense  of  being  an  alien.  He  circled 
the  house  like  a  thief,  pretending  to  himself  that  he  did 
not  know  where  he  was  going.  But  his  feet  were  astute 
all  the  same  and  so  too  the  brain  that  directed  them. 
The  snow  had  gone  and  the  ground  was  soggy  from  the 
recent  rains,  yet  the  matted  turf  was  so  heavy  that  he 
left  no  tracks. 

The  workshop  was  locked,  but  he  was  quick  to  find 
the  key  in  its  innocent  hiding  place  behind  a  blind. 
The  shop  was  equipped  with  electricity  now.  He 
switched  on  a  light,  then  hastily  began  covering  the 
windows  with  a  steamer  rug  and  a  piece  of  canvas  that 
he  found  in  a  corner.  David,  outside  his  prescribed 
area  of  work,  was  a  tramp  for  disorder.  But  perfect 
with  a  pristine  splendor  stood  the  miniature  engine  in 
readiness  for  the  morrow.  The  floor  shied  away  from 
it  in  a  respectful  square  like  a  prize-fight  ring  and  this 
much  of  the  shop  was  scoured  and  shining. 

275 


276  The  Heart's  Justice 

Rolfs  heart  beat  hard.  He  told  himself  that  he  had 
come  merely  to  examine  it,  but  deep  within  him  was  the 
seed  that  Mrs.  Burchard  had  planted.  "The  stupidest 
man  I  know,  Sterling."  He  could  hear  her  insinuating 
drawl  .  .  .  and  he  could  see  her  smile  that  refused  to 
believe  in  his  honesty  of  purpose,  a  goading  smile, 
merry  to  make  of  him  a  criminal.  Once  he  thought  he 
heard  a  step  outside  and  a  tremor  of  guilt  passed 
through  him.  When  a  coal  fell  in  the  stove  he  started 
like  a  nervous  woman.  He  had  done  nothing  in  reality, 
he  kept  assuring  himself,  and  since  he  was  guilty  only 
of  temptation  he  was  not  guilty  at  all.  He  feigned  an 
entire  candor  of  interest  as  he  examined  the  model  in 
all  its  exquisite  parts.  It  appealed  to  him  like  a  poem ; 
in  his  scientific  eyes  it  was  a  thing  of  smooth  seduction 
and  beauty,  of  calculated  charm ;  he  understood  David's 
infatuation  for  it,  David  in  the  role  of  Pygmalion. 
And  as  he  continued  to  study  it  he  became  more  and 
more  excited  over  its  certain  conquest.  Then  his  whole 
tense  adulation  fell  to  pieces.  He  went  over  to  the  stove 
and  collapsed  in  a  rickety  chair  to  brood.  David  would 
have  all  this  and,  linked  to  his  success,  he  would  have 
Muffet.  Rolf  was  wrung  by  jealousy.  He  pictured  the 
progressive  stages  by  which  she  would  be  wooed  away 
from  him,  the  triumph  of  her  father's  success,  the  grow- 
ing sense  of  parental  support  in  her  break  with  Rolf, 
all  the  talk  about  the  immorality  of  a  loveless  marriage, 
the  high  Harlow  attitude.  If  he  could  only  see  her  as 
undesirable  his  suffering  would  have  been  lessened,  but 
during  the  long  estrangement  she  had  grown  steadily 
in  his  eyes  as  the  prize  unspeakable,  the  one  woman  who 
could  give  him  the  happiness  he  craved.  Endearing 
memories  of  her  paraded  before  him,  Muffet  at  parties 
on  leash  as  his  possession,  Muffet  gardening  and  handi- 


The  Heart's  Justice  277 

capped  by  her  horror  of  angleworms,  Muffet  waking  in 
the  morning  and  lifting  her  bare  arms  in  gestures  of 
yawning,  and  the  way  she  had  of  falling  to  sleep  at 
night,  curled  spinelessly  round  her  pillow  like  a  kitten, 
Muffet  in  a  thousand  moods  and  attitudes.  Tears  came 
to  his  eyes  and  were  shed  bitterly.  He  discovered  him- 
self weeping  there  alone  in  the  night,  and  roused  to 
avenge  his  own  injury. 

"God,  no,  I  won't  be  beaten  at  this  thing.  I  won't 
be  a  spectacle  and  a  laughing  stock.  .  .  ." 

A  crude  anger  swept  his  soul  and  made  him  sob  out- 
right. When  he  stood  the  whole  shop  was  blurred  and 
careening  like  the  deck  of  a  ship  and  his  head  ached 
intolerably.  Things  were  going  through  his  brain  like 
red  hot  rivets,  hammer,  hammer,  hammer,  and  at  first 
he  could  hear  only  the  pound  of  them.  But  presently 
they  were  clarified  as  thoughts,  logical  ideas  in  fierce 
reiteration.  "Here's  your  chance,  take  it  ...  here's 
your  chance,  take  it.  .  .  ."  He  was  propelled  to  the 
model  motor  in  its  neatly  cleared  space  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  He  was  simply  led  there  and  shown  it,  as 
one  Jesus  Christ  was  shown  the  world  by  Satan  from  a 
hill-top.  Then  the  busy  little  hammers  began  another 
lively  tattoo.  "Change  the  timing,  change  the  timing, 
change  the  timing,"  and  "Tamper  with  the  parts.  .  .  . 
You  know  what  you  can  do,  you  know  what  you  can  do." 
It  was  curious  that,  having  never  dealt  in  trickery  or 
fraud,  these  hints  were  glibly  presented.  And  suddenly, 
without  previous  study  or  consideration,  he  did  know 
what  he  could  do  to  throw  the  mechanism  out  of  tune. 
He  laughed  excitedly  in  his  sobbing  and  looked  about 
him  for  tools.  It  required  a  certain  cool  calculation  to 
effect  the  result  and  his  mind  calmed  to  meet  the 
emergency.  He  saw  that  behind  an  aluminum  sheet 


278  The  Heart's  Justice 

against  the  wall,  buried  save  for  their  handles,  were 
thrust  the  readier  of  David's  implements.  He  reached 
for  a  wrench,  but  the  wrench  resisted  him.  Too  many 
tools  tightly  packed.  He  used  his  strength  to  dislodge 
it.  Then  suddenly  his  impatience  had  its  result.  The 
nails  which  held  the  aluminum  sprang  out,  the  litter 
of  tools  fell  to  the  floor  and  with  them,  zigzagging  like 
a  great  moth,  a  square  envelope.  In  the  midst  of  his 
disgust  the  envelope  arrested  him;  somewhere  he  had 
seen  that  stationery  before,  blue  gray  with  a  hair  fiber. 
He  picked  it  up,  and  read  the  superscription.  David 
Harlow,  postmarked  over  a  year  ago.  He  stood  hold- 
ing it  in  his  hand,  momentarily  forgetting  the  disrupted 
tools.  His  mind  sought  other  associations,  was  re- 
warded. Several  days  previous,  at  the  factory,  he  had 
received  a  note  from  Mrs.  Burchard.  It  accompanied 
the  loan  of  a  book  on  the  old  seafaring  towns  of  the 
state.  The  same  type  of  handwriting,  similar  station- 
ery. Still  it  might  be  a  coincidence.  For  what  rea- 
son would  Mrs.  Burchard  be  writing  his  father-in-law  ? 
The  same  outlaw  curiosity  which  had  long  ago  caused 
Aunt  Lu  to  tamper  with  David's  correspondence,  and 
fearing  detection  to  secrete  the  letter  in  the  first  avail- 
able hiding-place,  impelled  Kolf.  He  drew  forth  the 
sheet,  skimmed  it  with  growing  amazement,  was  in  pos- 
session of  its  content,  and  even  then  incredulous.  He 
needed  to  assimilate  slowly.  This  letter  was  from  David 
HarloVs  wife — not  a  doubt  of  it.  It  began,  "Dear 
David — "  It  asked  curtly  if  her  allowance  might  be 
increased,  and  it  was  signed,  "Rhoda  Harlow." 

"Rhoda" — that  fabulous,  almost  fictitious  name  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Burchard's  name.  But  if  she  was  really  Mrs. 
Harlow,  what  was  she  doing  in  Wedgewater,  where  she 
was  certain  to  be  declassee  ?  His  mind  caught  at  rem- 


The  Heart's  Justice  279 

nants  of  substantiation.  She  wished  to  live  a  sedentary 
life.  She  knew  Elijah  Moore.  She  clung  to  a  mani- 
festly incongruous  friendship  with  him.  Elijah  Moore 
had  cautioned  him  to  say  nothing  of  the  friendship  to 
David,  under  the  pretense  that  he  feared  chaffing. 
What  was  it  all  about?  What  was  it  all  about?  Was 
she  in  reality  Rhoda  Harlow,  the  mysterious  wife  and 
mother  whose  name  had  been  erased  from  the  honor  roll 
of  Harlows  ?  With  a  shock  he  remembered  her  sugges- 
tion about  the  motor,  her  sleepy,  sinuous  suggestion  that 
he  had  been  on  the  way  to  negotiating  when  the  letter 
slipped  into  his  hand.  What  if  she  had  some  personal 
motive  for  wishing  to  injure  David  Harlow  ?  Suddenly 
he  remembered  David  as  he  had  seen  him  that  first  day 
in  his  home,  where,  surprising  him  in  a  new  and  ad- 
miring light,  Rolf's  efficient  determination  to  dismiss 
him  from  the  factory  had  gone  down  in  shame.  In  his 
inmost  soul  he  knew  him  a  man  incapable  of  ungentle- 
ness.  No,  if  either  had  been  at  fault  it  was  the  wife. 
Rolf  saw  him,  abandoned  by  the  unstable  woman  he 
had  married,  patiently  following  his  bent,  with  the 
selflessness  of  the  scientist,  dedicated  to  his  work.  That 
gift  which  Rolf  was  so  well  able  to  understand  he  had 
very  nearly  injured.  But  it  was  Mrs.  Burchard,  whose 
tool  he  had  inadvertently  become. 

His  shame  and  remorse  were  stronger  than  his 
jealousy  had  been.  His  greater  vision  embraced  more 
than  his  own  personal  happiness  and  pride.  To  the 
victor  the  spoils !  Let  this  work  ride  on !  The  exulta- 
tion of  his  sadness  made  of  his  face  a  dream  for  marble. 

But  he  wanted  the  truth  above  everything  and  hastily 
securing  a  nail  and  hammer  he  made  a  clumsy  job  of 
replacing  the  aluminum,  tools  and  all.  He  thrust  the 
letter  in  his  pocket,  turned  out  the  light  and  in  the  dark- 


280  The  Heart's  Justice 

ness  tore  away  the  covers  from  the  windows.  Five 
minutes  later  he  was  in  his  car  on  his  way  back  to 
Wedgewater. 

n 

It  was  an  improbable  hour  for  the  inhabitants  of 
Wedgewater  to  be  awakened.  Nevertheless  Rolf  rang 
Elijah's  doorbell  without  compunction,  and  waited  till 
the  little  man's  head  was  thrust  out  of  an  upstairs 
window. 

"What's  wanted?"  sang  out  Elijah  in  a  suspicious, 
nocturnal  voice.  Rolf  could  see  his  chilly  head  emerg- 
ing in  disorder  from  the  white  collar  of  his  night-shirt. 

"It's  Sterling,"  he  answered  roughly.  "Come  down. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Sterling?  What  brings  you  at  this  hour?  Any- 
thing wrong  at  home  ?" 

"Let  me  in  and  I'll  tell  you."  The  voice  was  impa- 
tient. 

Elijah  closed  the  window.  He  was  unconscionably 
slow,  but  at  last  there  was  a  candle-glimmer  on  the  stair 
and  a  scarecrow  in  a  red  flannel  wrapper  opening  the 
door  for  him. 

"Why  couldn't  you  have  come  a  little  earlier?"  he 
asked  peevishly  Rolf  saw  that  there  were  dark  ravages 
under  his  eyes  and  that  the  hand  which  held  the  candle 
was  unsteady.  "I've  had  a  hard  day  all  around.  A 
hard  day.  And  I  have  a  hard  day's  work  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Rolf,  hardly  knowing  how  he 
spoke.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you,  I  tell  you." 

"What  now?"  asked  Elijah,  making  a  light  in  the 
stuffy  parlor  and  sitting  down  so  that  the  bathrobe 
covered  his  pitiful,  bare  ankles. 


The  Heart's  Justice  281 

Rolf  sat  in  his  overcoat  and  leaned  to  Elijah  across 
the  dusty  table.  And  it  occurred  to  Elijah  that  Rolf 
too  had  passed  through  some  strange  psychological  ex- 
perience. 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  Sterling  shortly,  "everything 
there  is  to  know  about  Mrs.  Burchard." 

Elijah  stared  back  at  him,  going  several  shades 
whiter.  The  room  was  cold  and  his  teeth  chattered  like 
a  pair  of  castanets. 

"And  why  is  it  any  business  of  yours  ?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Sterling  answered  directly, 
"I've  been  seeing  a  great  deal  of  her." 

Elijah  laughed,  a  dry  cluck  in  his  throat. 

"You  too,  then." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'you  too'  ?" 

Elijah  made  a  gesture  with  his  bony  hand. 

"I  mean  you  and  I  and  every  man,  flies,  flies  in  the 
web."  He  looked  as  if  he  might  burst  into  tears  at  any 
moment. 

Rolf  said,  "I  know  what  you  mean,  but,  see  here, 
you're  all  wrong  so  far  as  I'm  concerned.  I  love  my 
wife,  no  other  woman." 

"Then  why  were  you  seeing  a  good  deal  of  her  ?" 

"Why?"  An  immense  gloom  settled  upon,  the 
younger  man.  "For  the  life  of  me  I  don't  know.  She 
had  a  certain  magnetism — I  was  lonely " 

Elijah  nodded.  His  eyes  dwelt  in  Rolfs  with  a 
resigned  melancholy. 

"I've  been  in  love  with  her  all  my  life."  The  words 
seemed  to  shock  him  as  much  as  they  did  his  listener. 
"But  I  love  Dave,  too,  and  I  know  he  was  right  and  she 
was  wrong.  Solve  that,  if  you  can." 

"Then    she    is — you    are "      Rolf    would    have 


282  The  Heart's  Justice 

laughed  at  the  comic  picture  he  made,  only  the  little 
man's  sorrow  and  amazement  claimed  his  sympathy. 

"And  now,"  continued  Elijah,  "since  I  brought  her 
to  Wedgewater  and  have  interceded  with  David  to  take 
her  back,  I've  lost  both  of  them.  Dave  kicked  me  out 
of  his  house  and  to-night  when  I  told  her  what  he  said 
she  called  me  'a  prehistoric  animal.'  She'll  be  gone  to- 
morrow." 

His  eyes  watered;  they  wandered  helplessly  about 
the  room. 

"I'll  never  see  Rhoda  Harlow  again."  The  wistful 
tone  faded.  Suddenly  a  gust  of  indignation  shook 
him.  "And  what's  more,  I  want  you  to  look  at  this." 
He  opened  a  drawer  in  the  table  and  drew  out  a  sheet 
of  unfolded  paper.  "I  want  you  to  look  at  this,"  and 
he  thrust  the  paper  in  the  line  of  Rolf's  vision.  "This 
is  what  I  found  when  I  came  home  this  evening." 

Rolf  discovered  thereon  chirography  of  a  vehement 
character,  and  read: 

"ELIJAH  : 

"Don't  think  you  have  deceived  me.  I  know  about 
your  carryings-on  with  the  woman  in  John  Street.  I 
will  not  stay  under  your  roof  another  night,  nor  darken 
your  door  again.  You  can  find  someone  else  to  keep 
house  for  you. 

"HANNAH." 

A  tentative  smile  stirred  Rolf's  lips. 

"This  was  your  housekeeper?" 

Elijah  nodded  bitterly.  "My  wife's  sister.  I  haven't 
had  any  dinner.  Was  ever  a  man  so  misjudged  ?" 

"She  did  lay  it  on  thick,"  sympathized  Rolf, 
"  'darken  your  door*  .  .  .  'stay  under  your  roof  .  .  ." 


The  Heart's  Justice  .283 

Elijah's  lip  quivered. 

"Me,"  he  mourned  ludicrously,  "a  deacon  of  the 
church,  a  vestryman." 

"Never  mind,"  suggested  Rolf,  "come  dress  your- 
self and  let's  go  eat,"  but  Elijah  shook  his  head  in 
negation. 

"Let's  go  drink  then." 

A  wan  light  was  kindled  in  the  blinking,  lugubrious 
eyes. 

"That's  different,"  the  old  fellow  admitted,  "I  just 
wish  I  could  forget  the  whole  awful  mess — even  for  five 
minutes." 

m 

Once  he  had  Elijah  beside,  him  in  the  car  a  strange 
sense  of  unreality  came  over  Rolf.  The  temporary 
respite  from  his  own  worries  returned  to  him  and  he 
felt  giddily  that  he  must  get  out  of  the  role  of  Rolf 
Sterling  for  the  space  of  the  night.  He  must  sidestep 
himself  in  some  new  salutary  manner;  the  idea  of  re- 
turning home  at  all  became  increasingly  abhorrent.  But 
in  his  furious  search  for  freedom  he  was  hampered  by 
the  temperate  habits  he  had  formed.  He  was  not  a 
man  who  could  easily  abandon  himself  to  irresponsi- 
bility— too  long  had  he  been  responsible.  Naturally  of 
a  reserved  nature,  the  impulse  of  escape  was  one  to 
which  he  would  respond  awkwardly.  And  he  fumed 
and  fretted  against  the  armor  of  his  own  building.  He 
paced  the  confines  of  his  spirit,  suffering  to  be  let  out. 

It  was  past  midnight  and  the  bar  of  the  Mohawk 
was  closed,  but  there  were  other  places  of  a  question- 
able character  which  defied  the  midnight  law  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  presenting  one  darkened  eye  while 


284  The  Heart's  Justice 

another  one  was  always  winking.  Such  was  Jake's 
saloon  on  Wedgewater  Road,  and  thither  they  betook 
themselves,  creating  whispers  of  amazement  among  the 
smoky,  slouching  habitues  with  which  the  room  was 
filled.  At  any  normal  time  Rolf's  dislike  of  the 
wretched  place  must  have  been  pronounced,  his  impa- 
tience for  the  working  men  who  spent  their  earnings  in 
the  stale  atmosphere  of  drink  and  futile  discussion. 
He  had  often  seen  them  late  at  night  as  he  drove  down 
Wedgewater  Road,  slouching  out  of  these  convivial 
hells  with  their  faces  brutalized,  and  thought  senten- 
tiously,  "Fools.  There's  no  helping  them." 

But  to-night  he  was  as  surprised  in  them  as  they  in 
him.  He  welcomed  the  sour  reek  of  the  room  and  the 
smoke-gray,  swimming  air  as  an  atmosphere  in  which 
his  individualism  became  merged  and  lost.  He  liked 
the  crowdedness  of  it,  both  actual  and  implied,  the 
jumbled  talk  in  which  his  own  could  scarcely  find 
elbow-room.  He  even  liked  the  curious  and  sullen  faces 
that  questioned  his  presence  there,  incredulous,  ironi- 
cal. .  .  .  The  superior  Sterling  come  down  to  a  par 
with  them !  Sterling  did  not  mind  their  attitude  in  the 
least.  It  was  rather  Elijah  who  minded  it.  Elijah's 
love  of  a  nip  was  a  dainty  vice ;  he  was  no  frequenter  of 
saloons,  and  to-night  his  Sabbath  face  all  but  drew  tears 
of  mirth  from  the  onlookers.  He  drank  beer,  as  most 
of  the  factory  men  were  doing,  but  his  hand  lifting  the 
enormous  mug  was  small  and  whitish  like  a  girl's.  He 
underwent  a  spasm  of  anxiety  when  he  saw  Rolf  drink- 
ing whisky.  Rolf  was  abstemious  as  an  athlete  in 
training;  he  had  no  more  business  than  a  babe  to  be 
starting  in  like  this.  It  did  not  occur  to  Elijah  that 
Rolf,  savage  for  a  gesture  of  abandon,  had  determined 
to  get  himself  drunk. 


The  Heart's  Justice  285 

"Best  be  going,"  said  Elijah  and  he  plucked  the 
other's  arm.  "I'm  through,  Sterling."  But  Sterling 
stood  at  the  bar,  for  the  benefit  of  the  congregated 
patrons,  hopefully  and  with  a  certain  religiosity  feed- 
ing himself  liquor. 

When  Elijah  had  reiterated  his  squeamishness  for 
the  third  time  Sterling  turned  upon  him  an  impersonal 
eye. 

"Go  and  be  gone,"  he  said.  "What  the  devil's  keep- 
ing you?" 

And  Elijah  obeyed.  Then  Rolf  turned  upon  his  com- 
panions a  clear  and  friendly  eye. 

"  'Llo,  Harrigan,"  he  said,  "StefFanson,  Kadotski. 
Have  something  on  me,  you  fellows.  Jake,  set  'em  up." 
There  was  a  murmur  of  approbation. 

"Begorra,  Mr.  Sterling,  you're  the  last  man,  sir,  I'd 
be  expectin'  to  stand  alongside  of  an'  me  foot  on  the 
rail,"  said  the  man  named  Harrigan,  "but  it's  a  bit  of  a 
raw  night,  I'm  thinkin',  an'  you  so  late  gettin'  home 
an'  all.  If  ye'll  pardon  the  familiarity,  sir,  an'  me 
meanin'  no  harm,  I'd  advise  a  teetotaler  like  yourself  to 
go  light  on  the  whisky " 

Rolf  laughed  his  bravado. 

"I've  the  need  to  conserve,  Harrigan!  Conserva- 
tion's always  been  my  motto.  To-night  it's  time. 
Whisky  works  fast " 

Harrigan,  a  burly  Irishman  the  color  of  brick,  stared 
jovially. 

"Faith,  an'  ye'd  better  go  aisy,  I'm  tellin'  ye " 

For  a  time  they  stood  like  brothers,  the  uncouth  men 
who  patronized  Jake's,  greasy,  sweated,  full  of  coarse 
humor  and  loud  discussion,  half  proud  to  be  drinking 
with  their  employer,  half  converted  to  the  new  picture 
of  him  as  a  good  fellow  of  their  ilk.  They  remembered 


286  The  Heart's  Justice 

their  resentment  of  his  stern  example,  and  were  re- 
joiced. Rolf  succumbed  very  quickly,  grateful  for  the 
commiserating  numbness  that  took  him  far,  far  out  of 
the  reach  of  his  agonies,  that  broke  down  the  difficult 
barriers  between  him  and  the  others.  Red  necks  and 
the  protruding  cartilage  of  the  drinking  throat  appealed 
to  him  as  a  lovely  and  a  brotherly  sight.  Caught  be- 
tween the  muscled  shoulders  of  his  companions  he  won- 
dered how  the  kinship  of  them  had  escaped  him  so  long. 
He  put  his  arm  about  the  neck  of  one  who  had  eaten 
garlic  and  addressed  him  tenderly  as,  "Big  brother 
Antonio!"  He  was  back  in  his  own  days  of  moiling 
and  shared  with  them  their  grievances  and  their  fatigue. 

"Come  and  tell  me  when  you've  a  complaint,"  he 
invited  oratorically.  "I'm  a  workman — same's  you. 
Thish  one  thing  I  want  you  understand.  I've  done 
every  dirty  job  you're  doing  now  and  I  know  conditions 
in  this  fact'ry.  I'm  here  to  see  every  las'  man  o'  you 
gets  a  square  deal." 

"Like  hell  you  are,"  said  a  voice  from  a  distant  cor- 
ner, and  there  swaggered  into  the  nimbus  of  the  hang- 
ing lamp  an  enormous  Russian  named  Strunsky,  he 
who  had  been  the  spokesman  for  the  mechanics  in  the 
recent  strike.  He  moved  toward  Sterling  with  a  slow 
and  sinuous  motion,  his  dark  and  brooding  face  lit  by 
an  expression  as  insidious  as  his  walk.  Two  feet 
away  he  stopped,  in  superb  impudence,  his  contempt 
singeing  the  capitalistic  Sterling.  "Like  hell  you  are, 
you  poor  example  of  a  profiteer.  Yes,  go  on  and  drink 
with  him,"  he  recommended  to  the  others,  "so  long  as 
he'll  pay  for  swilling  it  down  yer,  the  big,  smooth-smil- 
ing Judas.  He's  a  handsome  plutocrat,  he  is !  Teeto- 
taler, and  churchman,  and  holy — example  of  a  citizen. 
But  what  did  he  do  for  you  in  the  winter  when  your 


The  Heart's  Justice  287 

wives  and  children  were  next  to  starving  and  you 
hadn't  enough  coal  in  your  houses  to  keep  a  canary 
warm?  Why,  he  consulted  with  the  big  guns,  he  did, 
and  heard  'em  whining  about  their  dividends  that  had 
been  chopped  since  the  war,  and  he  threw  out  his  chest 
to  show  they'd  chose  the  right  man  when  they  made 
him  the  manager  of  their  factory.  He  fought  your  de- 
mand for  a  living  wage,  he  did,  living  himself  strong 
all  the  time,  feedin'  fat,  an'  keepin'  his  house  warm, 
an' — an'  turnin'  on  his  own  wife  when  she  showed 
humanity  enough  to  feel  for  the  other  women.  Ster- 
ling," he  said  dropping  his  voice,  "they  tell  me  in  the 
beginning  you  were  a  good  fellow  before  this  successful 
stuff  began  working  in  your  bean.  You  simply  got  a 
swell  head  when  you  found  you  was  on  the  elevator 
goin'  up.  And  now  it's  got  so  a  man'd  as  lieves  appeal 
to  a  stone  wall  as  he  had  to  you,  Manager  Sterling." 

The  fellow  was  drunk  and  during  this  long  indict- 
ment Rolf  had  become  conscious  of  his  own  unfitness 
as  well.  The  whisky  had  strong  hold  of  him.  For 
once  in  his  life  he  was  at  a  disadvantage  and  the  pitiful 
satisfaction  of  his  erstwhile  popularity  was  broken. 
The  men  who  had  been  drinking  with  him  were  so- 
bered. There  was  a  low  sound  of  dissension,  whispers 
of,  "That's  so,  by  Gawd,"  "Boris  has  said  it,"  "He's  the 
boy  to  speak  his  mind,"  and  the  like. 

Well  did  Rolf  know  the  fickle  psychology  of  the 
crowd.  He  felt  a  great  loneliness,  a  maudlin  pity  for 
himself  and  just  the  faintest  wonder  that  he  was  some- 
how deprived  of  the  use  of  his  faculties.  That  was  due 
to  his  unusedness  in  drinking.  The  dissipating  fires  in 
his  brain  threw  all  his  thoughts  into  confusion  despite 
the  willingness  of  his  tongue. 

"See  here,  you  damned  socialist,  I  can't  go  into  that 


288  The  Heart's  Justice 

now.  It's  the  system  you  must  blame  for  conditions — 
conditions.  Blame  system.  I  can't  help  it,  can  I,  if  a 
stock  company's  not  run  on  philanthropic  principles. 
Show  me  one  that  is.  I've  got  to  look  out  for  my  job, 
haven't  I?  I've  got  to  protect  the  interests  of — inter- 
ests of — why,  the  interests  of  the  company,  of  course." 
He  was  angry  that  the  old  arguments  he  knew  so  well 
and  was  accustomed  to  employ  so  dexterously  eluded 
him.  He  groped  childishly  for  words  and  an  expression 
of  acute  distress  came  into  his  face. 

"Will  ye  be  holdin'  your  tongue  now?"  put  in  the 
friendly  Harrigan.  "Sure  the  lad's  gone  under  en- 
toirely — entoirely,  and  it's  no  use  bandyin'  words  wid 
him  now  .  .  .  nary  a  word." 

"Gone  under,  am  I?"  cried  Sterling,  growing  ugly 
and  wearing  a  pretentious  smile.  "Who  says  I'm  gone 
under,  I  want  to  know.  Because  I'll  show  the  liar  what 
— a — liar  he  is."  He  swayed  slightly,  and  rested  an 
elbow  on  the  bar,  presenting  an  improbable  picture  with 
his  clear-comely  face  and  meticulous  grooming  starred 
among  the  grimy  laborers.  His  eye  struck  Harrigan's 
and  glanced  off,  returned,  unsure. 

"Was  it  you,  Harrigan?  Then  I'll  ask  you  to  re" 
peat  it.  .  .  ." 

"I'll  not  be  quarrelin'  wid  ye,  Mister  Sterling,"  said 
Harrigan. 

"Aw,"  said  a  twisty  voice  from  the  edge  of  the  crowd, 
"if  it's  lookin'  for  trouble  he  is,  let's  muss  him  up. 
Let's  muss  him  up  if  we  get  jail  for  it,  the  starchy 
dude,  Been  a  common  working  man  hisself,  has  he? 
Then  he'd  orter  know  how  to  move  his  fists.  Clear 
away,  Buddies,"  in  a  tone  of  dainty  derision.  "I 
sorter  hanker  to  close  his  lamps." 

What  happened  was  exactly  what  none  of  them  had 


The  Heart's  Justice  289 

expected.  They  had  reckoned  without  the  thought  of 
Sterling's  trained  muscles,  his  absolute  physical  fitness 
maintained  by  daily  bouts  in  a  gymnasium.  Even 
drunk  he  was  a  match  for  them.  He  remembered  later 
with  a  tingling  pleasure  how  he  had  cleared  an  avenue 
for  himself  out  of  the  gamier  element  that  impeded 
him,  how  once  a  smashing  fist  blow  glancing  off  a  man's 
jaw  struck  the  edge  of  the  bar  and  laid  his  knuckles 
open.  Then  he  was  outside  in  the  foul,  misty  night,  a 
night  sweating  as  he  sweated  at  every  pore.  He  was  in 
his  car  and  swerving  out  into  the  highway  without  in 
the  least  knowing  which  way  he  headed.  Sometimes  he 
felt  faint,  sometimes  a  bit  dizzy,  but  the  dubious  nar- 
cotic which  drugged  his  brain  clung  tenaciously  and 
would  not  be  cheated  by  the  night  air.  White  flowers 
bloomed  in  the  fog  and  sometimes  there  was  a  road, 
though  oftener  not,  when  he  drove  through  clouds  in 
a  kind  of  subliminal  safety.  A  corner  designated  itself, 
but  cried  too  late.  Looming  ahead  on  the  curve  a  gray 
obstacle  uncovered  itself.  Swift  in  his  skimming  se- 
curity, it  seemed  an  easy  feat  to  avoid  it.  He  was  wrong 
in  his  calculation,  he  crashed  into  it  as  blithely  as 
though  it  were  a  phantom  object  to  give  way  before 
him.  Out  of  the  gray  fog  he  burrowed  into  a  blacker 
void  that  had  no  beginning  and  no  ending,  a  sort  of 
cave  of  the  winds  where  echoes  of  some  titanic  noise 
were  busy  repeating  themselves.  He  succumbed  not 
unpleasantly. 

The  impact  was  terrific.  A  comatose  policeman  on 
duty  at  the  corner  blew  his  whistle,  rushed  to  the  in- 
extricable melee.  Windows  flew  open  and  in  five 
minutes  the  quiescent  street  had  come  to  life  and  teemed 
with  morbid  onlookers.  It  was  a  milk-truck  with  which 
Sterling  had  collided,  and  the  angle  at  which  he  had 


290  The  Heart's  Justice 

crashed  into  it  had  turned  his  car  on  its  side.  The 
wheels  of  the  truck  had  crumpled,  the  side  was  gashed 
and  sagging,  the  driver  lay  in  the  road,  and  somewhere 
inside  the  pinned  wreckage  was  Sterling,  his  faint 
groans  indicating  that  he  still  lived. 

The  street  ran,  not  blood,  but  milk,  in  long,  pallid 
rivers  and  almost  ankle-deep  in  the  spreading  liquid 
men  worked  to  lift  the  side  of  the  heavy  truck  where  it- 
brooded  obstinately  over  the  lighter  car.  Urgently  they 
strained  to  the  accompaniment  of  women's  weeping  and 
the  shrill,  explanatory  cries  of  others,  "There's  a  man 
under  there.  Oh,  God,  how  awful."  At  length  the 
exertions  of  the  salvaging  crew  were  rewarded.  By 
tremendous  effort  the  bruised  roadster  was  laid  bare, 
its  shattered  side  torn  away,  a  limp  semblance  to  a 
human  form  extricated  and  borne  to  the  sidewalk. 

"It's  Mr.  Sterling,"  some  one  said  immediately,  and 
there  was  a  hush  of  consternation.  "Poor  fellow, 
there's  a  piece  of  glass  in  his  head."  "Here's  the  am- 
bulance now.  The  truck  driver's  conscious.  He's 
talking.  He  says  it  was  a  caution  how  that  man  came 
round  the  curve  on  him." 

Through  the  grim  yet  gloating  horror  of  the  throng 
nosed  the  ambulance,  authoritatively  clanging.  The 
injured  men  were  turned  over  to  the  doctors.  Then, 
the  meat  of  the  situation  being  removed,  the  coagulated 
mass  broke  up.  Many  lingered  to  hold  postmortems 
over  the  two  wrecked  automobiles,  but  gradually  these 
too  remembered  their  beds  and  yielded  to  the  persua- 
sion of  them.  The  fog  closed  thicker.  But  from  the 
jungle  of  buildings  a  lean,  black  cat  with  phosphores- 
cent eyes  prowled  forth  and  began  to  lap  the  milk  that 
was  running  in  the  gutters.  It  was  joined  by  other 
derelicts  of  the  same  school,  a  conference  of  cats.  Like 


The  Heart's  Justice  291 

creatures  of  ill-omen  they  profited  by  the  disaster,  se- 
cretively nourishing  themselves. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  house  far  out  Wedgewater  Road, 
Muffet  Sterling  stood  in  her  nightdress  at  the  tele- 
phone. 

"Yes,  I  am  Mrs.  Sterling,"  she  said  sleepily.  "Offi- 
cer Meloney  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand.  .  .  . 

There  has  been  an  accident?  My  husband "  The 

ear-piece  fell  from  her  hand;  she  caught  at  the  trans- 
mitter, but  in  another  minute  she  was  speaking  again, 
constrainedly.  .  .  .  "Yes,  yes,  I'm  here.  ...  Is  he 
badly  hurt  ?  Is  he  alive  ?  Are  you  sure  ?" 


Chapter  XXVII 


FOR  six  weeks  Sterling  lay  in  hospital  accomplish- 
ing his  slow  journey  back  from  the  Valley  of 
the  Shadow.  For  six  weeks  Muffet  was  in 
constant  attendance,  the  last  lonely  figure  to  leave  the 
building  at  night,  the  first  of  all  visitors  to  be  admitted 
in  the  morning.  The  shock  of  Rolf's  accident  was 
deeply  ingrained  in  her  life;  she  had  needed  perhaps 
this  imminence  of  danger  to  make  her  realize  the  serious 
bond  of  their  marriage.  With  a  bruised  and  suffering 
mind  she  abode  his  agonies,  sparing  herself  nothing. 
Horror  after  horror  she  had  shared  with  him  in  his  hell, 
step  by  step  she  followed  him  up  out  of  the  bloody 
abyss.  And  her  faithfulness  contained  more  than  the 
iron  element  of  duty.  Rolf,  helpless  and  indifferent  to 
his  fate,  was  a  Rolf  to  make  utmost  appeal  to  her. 
Nevertheless  she  accepted  the  phase  of  his  dependability 
as  in  every  sense  transitory.  She  never  for  one  moment 
doubted  that,  with  fitness  restored,  the  man-child  of  her 
nursing  would  rise  and  walk  alone.  She  was  unable  to 
visualize  him  as  permanently  needy  or  for  long  in 
eclipse.  The  lustre  of  his  activities  still  shone  for  her 
as  something  tangible — waiting.  It  was  not  in  him  to 
suffer  patiently  an  entanglement  with  misfortune. 

But  when  her  anxieties  had  subsided  to  the  point 
where  she  might  be  made  aware  of  outside  things, 
Muffet  was  amazed  to  learn  of  the  ugly  rumor  attend- 
ing the  case.  A  policeman  on  duty  at  the  scene  of  the 

292 


The  Heart's  Justice  293 

collision  had  reported  that  Sterling  was  driving  his  car 
in  a  reckless  manner.  Friends  of  the  injured  truck- 
driver  had  appeared  and  filed  testimony  to  the  effect 
that  he  had  previously  been  seen  drinking  in  a  saloon 
called  "Jake's" ;  they  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  had 
engaged  there  in  a  drunken  brawl  with  a  crowd  of  his 
own  mechanics.  The  driver  of  the  milk  cart,  sustaining 
no  more  serious  injury  than  a  broken  arm,  was  soon  up 
and  about.  But  Sterling,  lying  in  bandages,  was  in- 
dicted on  two  serious  charges. 

Censure  was  strict ;  Muffet,  inundated  by  ugly  truths, 
learned  that  it  was  in  her  to  suffer  responsibly  for  a 
man.  Rolf,  hitherto  but  the  blurred  image  in  her  mind 
of  a  legal  protector,  had  clarified  himself  as  something 
more.  Seeing  him  as  he  lay  in  deathly  indifference 
those  first  awesome  days  following  the  accident,  she  had 
known  he  was  her  husband,  had  been  swept  back  irre- 
sistibly to  the  time  of  their  mating.  Thereby  an  inex- 
orable law  had  been  established  that  could  not  be  gone 
back  on.  Whether  or  not  they  had  found  that  alliance 
one  of  harmony  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  its 
actuality.  The  identity  of  his  husbandhood  remained, 
and  by  whatever  befell  Rolf  she  was  bound  to  abide. 
She  was  sick  with  her  shared  mortification;  broken  by 
the  effort  to  comprehend  a  side  of  his  life  so  flagrantly 
masculine.  And  her  imagination  once  roused,  dared 
faintly  the  thought  of  women.  .  .  . 

When  David  broached  the  subject  of  current  gossip 
she  was  primed  for  defences. 

"But  it's  absurd,"  she  protested  in  sensitive  wrath, 
"anyone  who  knows  him  will  see  that."  And  she  added 
illogically,  "As  it  was  poor  Rolf  and  not  the  horrid 
milkman  who  was  hurt  I  can't  see  why  he  is  making 
all  this  trouble." 


294  The  Heart's  Justice 

"That  is  entirely  outside  the  question,"  her  father 
said  with  austerity,  "the  point  is  in  finding  out  which 
of  them  was  responsible  for  the  accident." 

She  had,  actually:  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"But,  Father,  you  know  Rolf,  and  how  it  couldn't 
be  true  of  him " 

David  appeared  grave. 

"To  say  that  I  know  Rolf  or  any  other  man  is  too 
broad  a  statement." 

Muffet  was  greatly  troubled  and  that  day,  during 
an  interlude  of  absence  on  the  part  of  the  nurse,  she 
spoke  to  Sterling,  the  new  man,  pale  in  his  bandages. 
She  approached  the  subject  in  all  timidity  and  was 
shaken  to  learn  that  he  had  already  received  a  summons 
to  court,  pending  the  time  of  his  recovery.  Her  mouth 
went  dry  with  embarrassment.  There  was  something 
strange  about  the  whole  affair  that  defied  acceptance. 

"I've  never  talked  to  you  about  that  night,"  she  said 
hesitantly,  "but  I've  always  known  that  it  was  the  fog 
which  blinded  you  and  not " 

"Oh,  you've  heard  rumors  ?"  he  asked  with  a  greater 
lassitude  than  even  his  illness  warranted,  and  there 
was  the  unfamiliar  glint  of  irony  in  his  eyes.  "Let  me 
tell  you  that  the  charge  was  justified.  I  had  been 
drinking,  I  was  a  menace  to  public  safety,  and  I  intend 
to  plead  guilty.  .  .  ." 

The  hand  that  lay  nearest  her  on  the  counterpane 
tapped  negligently  with  all  its  fingers.  His  eyes 
watched  her  incredulous  face  with  almost  a  hard  amuse- 
ment. At  first  she  thought  that  those  grim  bandages 
across  his  brow  covered  some  mutilated  cells  now  re- 
fusing to  function,  next  she  wondered  if  his  illness  had 
bred  in  him  a  depraved  sense  of  humor,  lastly  she  be- 


The  Heart's  Justice  295 

lieved.  She  believed  him,  though  paradoxically  his 
statement  seemed  no  less  a  lie  because  it  happened  to 
be  true.  She  bent  over  him  with  tremulous  pleading. 

"But,  Eolf,  you're  talking  about  a  different  kind  of 
man  altogether.  It's  not  in  you  to  drink  and  riot  any 
more  than  it's  in  Father  to  be  a  bully.  And  now  they're 
saying  that  you've  been  like  that  always,  only  you  kept 
it  under  cover." 

He  saw  her  face  clouded  by  distress  and  he  said, 

"Ha  .  .  ."  Then,  mumbling,  a  restless  flush  in  his 
cheeks,  "I  wanted  to  know  what  it  felt  like,  and  be- 
sides I  was  tired  of  being  so  damned  different  from 
other  men.  I  did  it  deliberately,"  and  he  added,  "even 
if  I  wasn't  much  of  a  success." 

"But,  Rolf,"  she  argued  in  shame  for  him,  "you 
couldn't  afford  to  degrade  yourself,  the  fighting  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  It — it  was  childish  of  you,  Eolf.  You 
should  have  remembered  your  good  name  and  your 
position." 

"Damn  my  good  name  and  my  position."  He  turned 
his  face  pettishly  to  the  wall.  And  still  without  turn- 
ing, "so  you're  ashamed  of  me,  are  you  ?  Well,  you've 
had  chances  enough  to  be  proud  of  me,  but  you  never 
were." 

She  caught  her  breath,  pain-shot.  It  was  true  she 
had  never  been  proud  to  be  proud  of  him  but  perhaps 
she  was  proud  to  bear  shame  with  him  now.  When 
Rolf  turned  to  look  at  her  once  more  he  found  that 
there  was  no  one  in  the  room  and  rang  his  bell  to  make 
an  inquiry. 

"Mrs.  Sterling  has  gone  home,"  said  the  nurse  who 
answered  it. 


296  The  Heart's  Justice 


It  seemed  to  Muffet  that  in  order  to  understand  the 
new  Rolf,  evolved  from  the  old,  she  must  first  forget  all 
earlier  impressions.  It  was  a  long  time  before  she 
could  accept  his  changed  point  of  view  and  incorporate 
it  in  her  picture  of  the  man.  This  was  how  he  was  to 
be  permanently,  grim  with  a  shadow  of  whimsy,  un- 
plagued  by  any  stirrings  of  the  old  ambition,  abso- 
lutely dead  to  public  opinion.  She  knew  that  Wedge- 
water  had  dethroned  its  idol.  Fierce  with  exacting 
affection  and  furious  in  disappointment,  it  had  cast  him 
from  his  pedestal.  It  suffered  from  the  blow  to  its  own 
judgment;  it  went  about  wondering  how  Rolf  Sterling 
had  managed  to  deceive  it  all  these  years.  For  Ster- 
ling's popularity  had  certainly  been  phenomenal.  A 
financier  and  a  churchman,  he  had  enjoyed  prestige 
alike  in  civic  or  social  circles.  The  directors  of  The 
Ship  and  Engine  factory,  those  of  the  wide  waists  and 
the  atrophied  sensibilities,  alone  held  loyal.  They 
were  upset  at  the  aspersions  cast  upon  their  exemplary 
young  man,  but  after  all  there  had  never  been  a  more 
competent  manager  than  Sterling  and  just  so  long  as  he 
did  not  break  his  neck  they  adhered  to  him. 

At  the  end  of  his  sojourn  in  the  hospital  Muffet  took 
him  home.  She  passed  with  him  into  the  realm  of 
humiliation,  feeling  the  dark  cloud  go  round  them  and 
suffering  with  curious  exaltation.  Always  there  was 
the  feeling  that  something  had  happened  to  cut  them  off 
from  the  old  contacts  and  to  make  them  significant  in 
each  other's  eyes.  Had  it  been  an  heroic  thing  that 
Rolf  had  done,  or  had  he  been  killed  in  the  disaster, 
admiration  or  sorrow  had  left  its  clear  imprint  upon 
her  without  bringing  her  one  jot  nearer  the  foreign 


The  Heart's  Justice  297 

substance  of  his  soul.  But  the  ignoble  escapade  had 
been  quite  without  the  color  of  glory.  Seeking  a  gesture 
of  escape,  he  had  drunk  whisky  and  smashed  a  milk 
cart.  So  had  he  chosen  to  manifest  his  sorrow.  One  of 
the  features  of  the  story's  write-up  in  the  local  paper 
had  been  the  part  about  the  cats.  She  knew  that  Rolf's 
extraordinary  behavior  was  the  outgrowth  of  sore 
vanity  which  had  to  do  with  herself  and  for  the  first 
time,  finding  a  need  to  understand  and  condone,  she 
was  tender  toward  him.  Her  heart  expanded  with 
womanly  omniscience. 

April  came  to  Wedgewater  Road  and  still  he  stayed 
convalescent,  and  sometimes  she  hoped  that  she  under- 
stood why  he  would  not  get  well.  Then  again  she  was 
chilled  out  of  her  vernal  perceptions,  prone  to  sadness. 
Rolf  was  neither  a  responsive  nor  a  difficult  patient, 
merely  an  engrossed  one.  As  her  spirit  approached 
through  the  medium  of  her  ministering  fingers,  her 
warm,  rosy  flesh,  her  eagerness  to  translate  to*  him  the 
idiom  of  spring,  he  withdrew  deeper  and  deeper  into 
the  recess  of  his  being,  at  times  obliviously  or  again  with 
a  deliberate  effect  of  closing  a  door  behind  him.  Then, 
like  a  child  abandoned  by  its  playmates,  she  looked 
about  her  for  her  father.  But  her  father  had  entered 
upon  a  phase  of  life  as  foreign  to  his  tradition  as  Rolfs 
inertia  was  foreign  to  his. 


in 


David  Harlow  had  come  into  his  own.  At  the  end 
of  his  long  sentence  of  waiting  came  the  period  of  suc- 
cess. Everyone  said  that  he  had  succeeded,  his  manner 
proclaimed  the  consummation  of  his  dreams.  As  Rolf 
was  so  ill  at  the  time  his  patent  was  adopted  Muffet 


298  The  Heart's  Justice 

had  been  debarred  from  active  participation  in  his 
pleasure,  but  the  consciousness  of  his  good  fortune  was 
pastured  in  her  mind. 

Nevertheless  the  anomaly  of  the  situation  impressed 
her  forcibly  when  Rolf  had  been  brought  home  to 
Wedgewater  Road  and  they  were  all  three  together' 
again.  It  seemed  strange  in  the  nature  of  things  that 
the  older  man's  happy  activity  kept  him  coming  and 
going  while  the  younger  sat  patiently  all  day  long  by 
his  window,  diverted  from  his  channels  of  usefulness, 
exempt  from  demand.  Muffet  told  herself  that  she  was 
glad  the  establishment  of  her  father's  pride  had  gener- 
ated such  independence,  that  she  could  now  dismiss  him 
from  her  mind  at  long  intervals  as  a  mother  thankfully 
dismisses  a  child  that  is  old  enough  to  watch  out  for 
itself.  She  told  herself  that  she  gave  herself  to  Rolf 
as  the  needy  one  of  the  two. 

But  it  was  some  time  before  she  came  to  recognize  the 
cause  underlying  the  change,  which  seemed  likely  to 
make  of  it  a  permanency.  One  day  the  startling  dis- 
covery,—  in  the  minds  of  these  men — metamorphosis ! 
Just  as  Rolf's  in  the  registry  of  disaster  and  disgrace 
had  become  passive,  so  her  father's  stimulated  by  suc- 
cess, was  the  mind  of  a  man  at  once  quickened  and 
solidified.  It  had  thrown  off  the  inferiority  complex 
for  all  time  and  in  its  new,  hard  dress  looked  toward 
earthly  rewards. 

The  truth  had  come  to  Muffet  after  her  talk  with 
Elijah  Moore.  Following  Rolf's  return  from  the  hos- 
pital she  had  met  Elijah  one  day  when  she  had  gone 
out  for  a  bit  of  fresh  air,  and  at  the  encounter  had 
surprised  him  almost  in  tears. 

"Why,  Uncle  Elijah,"  she  exclaimed,  using  her  child- 
hood's name  for  him,  and  half  chiding,  half  censuring 


The  Heart's  Justice  299 

him  for  neglect,  "we  thought  you  had  deserted  us. 
Where  have  you  been  all  these  weeks  ?" 

"My  dear,  you  mustn't  think  me  careless.  I've  felt 
for  you  in  your  trouble,  I've  inquired  for  Rolf  con- 
stantly but — well,  the  fact  is  your  father  and  I  have 
had  a  little  misunderstanding  and  so  I  felt  that  I  would 
not  be  welcome." 

"Welcome?"  She  looked  her  distress.  "So  that 
explains  everything.  But  surely,  surely  you  are  making 
mountains  out  of  molehills.  You  know,  of  course,  that 
Rolf  has  left  the  hospital  and  is  in  the  convalescent 
stage.  Poor  fellow,  the  time  is  very  long  for  him. 
Won't  you  forget  anything  that  may  have  happened 
and  come  to  see  him  ?" 

"That  depends,"  said  Elijah,  his  eyes  watering 
furiously,  "that  depends  entirely  on  your  father." 

"But  I  don't  understand  what  could  make  you  both 
so  stubborn.  Aren't  you  two  boys  ashamed  of  your- 
selves?" She  attempted  raillery,  but  she  saw  almost 
at  once  by  the  stricken  look  of  Elijah's  face  that  a  really 
serious  difference  had  arisen  between  the  two  old 
friends.  Constitutionally  they  warred,  but  their  anger 
was  always  shortlived. 

"You  don't  understand,"  mourned  Elijah,  "and  you 
never  will  but  tell  him  what  I  have  said  all  the  same." 

"I  will  give  him  your  message,"  she  promised,  sigh- 
ing, "but  you  know  he  is  often  very  hard  to  convince 
when  he  is  in  the  wrong." 

"Possibly  we  were  both  wrong,"  rued  Elijah  magnan- 
imously, "possibly  we  were  both  wrong,  my  dear.  Who 
knows?  But  I  can't  come  to  the  house  till  he  is  ready 
to  receive  me." 

"Please,"  she  made  a  gesture  of  pleading,  "don't 
be  too  literal.  I  am  sure  he  wants  to  see  you  but  he 


3OO  The  Heart's  Justice 

is  completely  swept  away  by  all  this  business  about  the 
patent.  You  have  heard,  of  course,  that  it  is  no  end 
of  a  success !" 

"Yes,  yes,  I've  heard."  Elijah  essayed  to  smile  but 
his  forlorn  lips  would  not  obey  him.  "And  to  think 
that  I,  who  have  been  interested  in  it  from  the  start, 
must  be  an  outsider  now!" 

"It  really  is  a  shame"  agreed  Muffet,  warming  to  his 
grievance,  "it  really  is  a  shame  and  I  think  that  Father 
is  treating  you  very  badly.  I  shall  tell  him  so,"  and 
impulsively  she  bent  and  kissed  him  on  the  cheek.  "We 
all  love  you,  Uncle  Elijah,  and  we  can't  do  without  you 
for  long." 


IV 


Eolf,  being  a  shut-in,  was  humble  to  the  point  where 
he  found  interest  in  inconsequential  gossip.  Muffet 
sought  ways  of  manufacturing  it  as  she  had  once  sought 
similar  distraction  for  her  father,  and  was  never  so 
happy  as  when  she  had  brought  a  smile  to  his  thinly 
grave  lips.  She  and  Rolf  spent  hours  now  in  the  pleas- 
ant house  that  Rolf  had  hitherto  known  but  superficially 
and  day  by  day  their  isolation  grew  more  complete.  At 
first,  after  his  move  from  the  hospital,  he  had  been 
called  upon  to  grant  audiences  to  members  of  his  office 
staff,  vicariously  directing  them  in  their  work.  But 
as  gradually  the  machine  of  organization  became  self- 
governing  he  was  left  alone  to  taste  oblivion.  But 
not  once  did  he  repine;  it  was  as  though  grimly  he 
embraced  the  opportunity  of  solitude.  From  his  minute 
observation  of  commonplace  things,  his  studious,  delving 
abstraction  Muffet  knew  that  he  was  building  a  philos- 


The  Heart's  Justice  301 

ophy,  and  sometimes  she  said  to  herself,  "This  is  not 
Eolf,  but  another!" 

When  David  returned  from  the  factory  and  looked  in 
upon  them  it  was  to  find  two  children  who  had  been 
good  by  themselves  all  day,  but  who  accounted  his  com- 
ing a  sensation.  He  brought  a  breath  of  the  outside 
world  that  was  at  once  stimulating  and  upsetting.  Long 
ago  Rolf,  feeling  himself  too  loud  a  personality  for  that 
house,  had  thought  that  here  only  the  softest  breezes 
should  insinuate.  Now  Rolf  was  the  one  who  receded 
sensitively,  hurt  by  the  impact  of  David's  importance. 
When  one  has  been  sitting  helplessly  all  day  one  feels 
the  reproach  of  another's  fitness.  So  now  when  David 
entered,  Rolf  sat  in  his  quilted  dressing-gown,  a  blanket 
across  his  knees,  at  his  elbow  a  little  stand  whereon  were 
his  books  and  smoking  materials.  He  let  David  do  all 
the  talking,  only  watching  him  at  unguarded  moments 
with  an  edging  smile. 

David  appeared  taller,  straighter,  better  groomed  than 
ever  before,  like  one  entering  upon  a  festive  era.  His 
physical  appearance  as  well  as  his  psychology  was  ex- 
traordinarily altered.  His  remarks  were  muscular  with 
cheer,  his  very  gesture  one  of  confidence.  Though  he 
was  jocular  he  showed  a  tendency  to  condense  speech, 
conserve  time,  which  was  to  Muffet  particularly  wound- 
ing. She  had  learned  better  than  to  expect  that  all 
his  evenings  might  be  claimed  by  them.  IsTo,  his  time 
was  constantly  in  demand,  his  engagements  clotted.  So 
this  evening,  without  preamble,  she  broached  the  sub- 
ject of  Elijah.  She  described  the  old  man's  unwonted 
emotion  on  seeing  her,  insisting  with  sympathy  that 
it  had  been  a  great  cross  to  Elijah  to  remain  away  from 
them. 

"I  really  had  no  time  to  think  of  him,"  confessed 


302  The  Heart's  Justice 

Muffet,  "but  I  realize  now  that  nothing  short  of  one 
of  your  famous  feuds  could  have  kept  him  away  so  long. 
And  he  gave  me  a  message  for  you,  Father, — he  said 
that  he  could  only  come  when  you  were  ready  to  receive 
him." 

As  she  spoke  a  somber  frown  had  come  to  rest  upon 
her  father's  brow,  but  when  she  had  finished  he  twitched 
it  away  impatiently. 

"Elijah,  oh,  yes,  he  might  well  enlist  your  sympathy 
when  you  have  no  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  offense." 

"Whose  offense,  Father?"  she  laughed,  jeering  at 
the  pretentious  word.  "Not  yours,  I  hope." 

"No,"  said  David  hotly,  "his.  Did  he  say  that  it 
was  mine  ?" 

"Oh,  dear  no.  He  was  quite  nobly  magnanimous 
on  that  score.  He  said  that  possibly  both  of  you  were 
at  fault.  Oh,  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  quarrel  with 
Elijah  at  your  age — at  his  age.  I  assure  you  he's  quite 
broken  up  about  it,  especially  as  all  these  years  he  has 
been  so  interested  in  the  invention.  Don't  you  feel  you 
need  him  now  ?"  The  tone  was  persuasive. 

Rolf  watched  to  see  how  it  would  be  received.  What 
he  saw  was  David  Harlow  assuming  a  face  of  consum- 
mate contempt.  His  lower  lip  protruded  like  that  of 
a  sullen,  bull-headed  boy  and  his  answer  was  so  long 
brewing  that  it  seemed  to  explode. 

"Need  him?"  he  repeated,  marveling,  "Need  him? 
That— dodderer!" 

And  because  his  dignity  was  threatened  he  turned 
on  his  heel  and  left  them — left  Muffet  to  the  fact  and 
the  enigma  of  her  husband's  smile.  She  could  not  con- 
ceive that  her  father  had  spoken  in  this  wise ;  all  these 
years  he  had  leaned  on  Elijah's  faith,  Elijah's  support 
and  now  he  called  him  "a  dodderer."  In  the  crux  of 


The  Heart's  Justice  303 

her  loneliness  she  went  over  to  Rolf  and  stood  plucking 
at  his  sleeve. 

"Don't  smile,  Rolf,"  she  said,  "there  is  certainly  a 
great  change  in  Father." 

Then  Rolf,  looking  up  into  her  troubled  face,  sur- 
prised her  by  jingling  the  coin  of  a  phrase  she  had 
once  spent  and  which  he  had  kept  all  these  months  hid- 
den in  the  pocket  of  his  mind. 

"That's  not  a  smile,"  he  said  whimsically,  "that's 
— that's  'a  tear  for  success'  1" 


Chapter  XXVIII 


OH    Albion,"     said    David    Harlow    one    spring 
day,  negligently  extending  a  hand  to  his  brother, 
the  portly  manufacturer  from  Threadville,  come 
to  consort  with  his  success,  "sorry  I  can't  see  you  just 
now.    I'm  off  to  a  conference  at  the  factory.    It's  about 
the  new  machinery  they're  installing  to  manufacture 
my  patent.     Why  not  step  into  the  sitting-room  and 
let  Kolf  entertain  you  while  I'm  gone  ?    He's  a  shut-in, 
poor  fellow." 

Albion  Harlow  stared.  He  had  come  less  osten- 
tatiously this  time,  lacking  the  legend  of  his  brother's 
failure.  He  had  come,  in  fact,  in  a  chastened  spirit, 
to  identify  himself  with  David's  success.  He  had  come 
to  tell  him  that  he,  Albion,  had  believed  in  his  engine 
from  the  first.  He  was  prepared  to  praise  and  verify, 
and  perhaps  drop  a  few  statuesque  hints  as  to  how 
such  honors  might  be  carried.  But  he  had  not  expected 
to  find  a  David  already  out  of  the  dark  chrysalis  and 
glamorous  with  wings.  Indeed  David  had  rallied  to 
his  dignities  in  a  marked  manner.  The  comedian's 
eye  was  charged  with  a  full  fire  of  direction.  And 
seeing  'him  so  Albion  could  only  stare,  his  composure 
bitterly  shaken.  It  was  he  who  had  been  given  to 
back-thumping  and  clipped  speech.  And  now  David 
wrung  his  hand  with  an  air  of  greeting  him  and  dis- 

304 


The  Heart's  Justice  305 

missing  him  at  once.  "Why  not  step  into  the  sitting- 
room,  till  I  come  back  ?" 

Muffet  came  to  greet  him  and  this  time  he  did  not 
pinch  her  cheek  and  tell  her  benevolently  that  he  would 
have  her  Aunt  Alice  ask  her  up  for  a  visit.  Muffet 
was  now  Mrs.  Sterling,  a  very  prettily  groomed  and 
poised  young  woman.  She  had  a  husband  on  the  road 
to  prominence,  her  house  properly  managed;  she  com- 
manded his  respect.  But  always  her  eye  was  lit  with 
a  mirthful  distrust  of  his  intentions. 

"Kolf,  here  is  Uncle  Albion,"  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band, and  led  the  manufacturer  into  the  presence  of  the 
invalid  as  she  had  once  admitted  him  to  the  presence 
of  her  sick  father. 

From  his  chair  by  the  sunny  window  Sterling  looked 
up  and  accorded  Muffet's  uncle  a  sinister  civility.  Long 
ago  the  two  had  met  and  Rolf  had  admired  the  older 
man,  accounting  him  literally  the  one  Harlow  of  impor- 
tance. The  new  Rolf,  registering  differently,  looked 
upon  the  fleshy  financier  as  one  likely  enough  belonging 
to  a  large  school  of  frauds.  Avarice  and  pomposity 
were  his  insignia;  from  the  gold  and  platinum  watch 
chain  inward  to  the  grisly  marrow  of  his  bones  he  was 
one  of  the  fraternal  order  of  materialists. 

Albion,  enkindled  toward  what  he  believed  to  be  their 
common  religion,  talked  business  until,  incredibly,  he 
encountered  the  sick  man's  disinclination.  Sterling 
sat  in  an  attitude  of  relaxation,  a  blanket  across  his 
knees,  his  hands  white,  his  face  bearing  that  curious 
refinement  of  expression  so  often  remarked  as  a  result 
of  long  illness. 

"It's  irksome  to  be  idle,"  remarked  Mr.  Harlow  in 
a  tone  between  sympathy  and  puzzlement.  "Aren't 
you  anxious  to  be  getting  out  and  back  to  your  work  ?" 


306  The  Heart's  Justice 

and  he  fixed  the  younger  man  with  a  look  of  incipient 
distrust.  Sterling  smiled  in  his  listless  way. 

"It  did  fret  me  till  I  realized  that  my  work  goes  on 
almost,  if  not  quite  as  well  without  me.  It's  a  tough 
blow  to  one's  vanity,  I  admit,  but  who  shall  say  it's  not 
a  good  lesson  to  learn  ?  My  wife  has  been  reading  me 
a  play  translated  from  the  French  about  the  cock  who 
thought  he  crowed  the  sun  up  each  morning.  He  was 
devoted  to  the  job  till  the  lady  pheasant  of  his  choice 
playfully  pricked  his  bubble  of  conceit."  He  looked 
at  Albion  Harlow  with  a  glimmer  of  drollery,  but 
Albion  was  not  smiling. 

"Besides,"  continued  Sterling,  "this  is  the  first  chance 
I  have  ever  had  in  my  whole  life  to  think,  to  sit  by  a 
window  and  watch  the  parade  go  by.  I  tell  you,  Mr. 
Harlow,  it  pays  to  quit  cold  once  in  your  life  and  stay 
quiet  long  enough  to  get  your  bearings.  I  tell  you  I 
had  been  going  so  hard  and  fast  for  years  that  I'd  lost 
sight  of  the  goal.  I  couldn't  see  the  forest  because  of 
the  trees." 

"Hm,"  observed  the  manufacturer,  deeply  and  mys- 
teriously displeased,  "there  are  very  few  men  who  can 
afford  to  'quit  cold,'  as  you  call  it,  even  for  a  short 
length  o'f  time.  Competition's  too  pressing." 

"You  mean,"  said  Eolf  dryly,  "that  success  is  too 
tempting.  Well,  after  all,  what  is  success,  materially 
speaking  ?" 

"It's  the  only  standard  by  which  we  can  measure 
a  man's  ability,"  said  Albion  Harlow  warmly. 

Rolf  fell  to  dreaming. 

"But  who's  to  measure  the  standard?  That's  what 
plagues  me.  I've  thought  myself  half  crazy  about  it. 
You  say  no  man  can  afford  to  be  idle  and  cultivate  his 
spirit.  I  say  no  man  can  afford  not  to.  Without  dis- 


The  Heart's  Justice  307 

tance  there's  no  perspective;  sickness  takes  one  into 
a  far  country.  Things  that  seemed  relatively  unim- 
portant to  me  last  year  have  assumed  mammoth  propor- 
tions." The  faintest  smile  played  at  his  lips.  "When 
I  was  first  married,  my  wife  tried  to  show  me  some  of 
the  big  things  I'd  overlooked,  but  I  was  too  dull  for 
her.  I'm  a  better  scholar  now.  For  instance,  the  change 
of  seasons  opens  up  vast  areas  of  study  and  speculation. 
This  year  I've  seen  the  green  coming  and  I've  felt 
responsible  for  it,  worried  along  with  the  leaves,  you 
might  say.  Day  and  night  I've  looked  out  of  my 
window  and  meditated  on  nature  and  the  scientific 
laws  of  the  universe.  I've  even  come  to  think  a  devil 
of  a  lot  about  the  stars." 

"Hm,"  said  his  caller  again,  this  time  with  a  distinct 
trace  of  irritation,  "next  you'll  be  taking  to  poetry." 

But  Rolf  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  hardly  fit  for  that  much  culture.  But  I'm 
ready  to  admit  that  there's  a  touch  of  quaintness  in 
life  that  needs  expression." 

"Well,"  coughed  the  manufacturer,  "I  must  be  get- 
ting on.  But  I  trust  you  haven't  lost  your  grip  for 
good,  Sterling.  You  mustn't  let  these  fancies  get  too 
strong  a  hold  on  you.  You're  too  useful  a  man  for  that. 
You've  made  your  place  in  the  world  and  it  needs  you, 
my  boy,  it  needs  you." 

And  he  went  out  and  left  Rolf  still  smiling,  and  pon- 
dering on  his  probable  escape  from  the  morass  of  mil- 
lions. 


A  curious  sensitiveness  inhered  in  Muffet.    As  dear 
as  had  grown  the  thought  of  her  charge,  she  could  not 


308  The  Heart's  Justice 

bear  that  anyone  should  find  Rolf  backward  in  recov- 
ery or  lacking  in  his  old  initiative,  that  anyone,  in  fact, 
should  pity  him  save  herself.  She  practised  a  savage 
protection  of  spirit  the  while  he  loitered  in  convales- 
cence. Just  as  she  had  previously  defended  her  father 
in  the  contact  between  the  two  men,  so  she  now  guarded 
her  husband  from  David's  overweening  vigor. 

"What  kind  of  a  day?"  he  would  ask  with  a  touch 
of  something  akin  to  Rolf's  old  impatience,  when  he 
returned  in  the  evening  and  looked  in  upon  the  invalid. 

"A  splendid  day,"  she  would  then  answer  singingly, 
flushed  beneath  the  faint  ridicule  of  Rolf's  expression 
but  valiant  to  uphold  him  at  any  cost.  "He's  gaining 
in  strength  steadily.  Soon  there'll  be  no  holding  him 
at  home." 

In  all  that  she  now  did  for  Rolf  was  the  touch  of 
quickened  sympathy.  In  his  presence  she  bloomed  with 
a  gipsy  sweetness  no  whit  less  lovely  because  his  ab- 
stracted eyes  failed  to  comprehend  it.  The  proclama- 
tion of  her  beauty  was  omnipresent,  often  pitiable  in  its 
thwarted  purpose.  For  Rolf,  while  content  in  the  realm 
of  her  ministering,  had  been  broken  in  the  fiercer  long- 
ing for  her  love.  The  hectoring  passion  had  gone  down 
in  actual  physical  suffering,  and  as  he  recovered,  his 
subconscious  mind  provided  an  immunity.  He  accepted 
her  devotion  with  a  gratitude  sincere  if  undemonstra- 
tive; he  dared  hazard  a  lift  of  spirit  to  the  level  of 
her  whimsy.  When  she  talked  of  "robins  in  rubber 
boots"  or  showed  him  in  the  distant  meadow  a  comedy 
in  "small,  plush  calves"  he  was  able,  as  never  before, 
to  join  in  tHe  game.  But  steadfastly  he  refused  to 
consider  the  dangerous  delight  of  her  hair  or  make 
personal  application  of  her  nearness.  Each  day  brought 
the  innocent  parade  of  prettiness  that  had  hoped  shyly 


The  Heart's  Justice  309 

and  retired  in  defeat.  She  saw  now,  as  Rolf  had  seen, 
the  incompletion  of  their  marriage,  its  deep  and  tragic 
helplessness. 

"What  have  you  in  mind?"  she  asked  him  once, 
depressed  by  her  sense  of  being  an  alien.  "You  tell 
me  nothing,  and  sometimes  I  doubt,  I  really  doubt  if 
you  mean  to  go  back  to  the  factory." 

He  laughed  indolently. 

"I've  a  feeling  I  don't  want  to  decide — just  yet.  I 
think  I  should  like  to  do  something  less  arbitrary  than 
I  have  been  doing.  I'm  sick  of  the  taint  of  authority 
that  keeps  one  from  meeting  men  on  the  plane  of  equal- 
ity. I'll  tell  you  something  that  may  surprise  you.  I'll 
whisper  in  your  ear  if  you'll  promise  me  never  to  breathe 
a  word  of  it, — success  is  a  failure,  Muffet.  !Now  mind 
you  keep  it  close.  Too  much  of  that  poison  in  the  sys- 
tem becomes  a  disease.  I  had  just  begun  to  find  out 
how  sick  I  was.  I'm  better  now." 

"Yes,  Rolf,"  she  answered,  marveling  when  he  spoke 
in  this  strain. 

"I'd  like  to  travel,"  mused  Sterling,  "not  following 
the  recognized  routes  at  all,  but  rashly,  like  a  vagabond, 
getting  into  all  kinds  of  trouble,  and  rare,  enlightening 
situations.  I'd  like  to  take  a  couple  of  years  at  it." 

"Roll  down,  roll  down  to  Rio,"  she  quoted  dreamily. 

"Or  the  South  Seas,"  said  Rolf,  "or  the  frozen 
Arctic." 

He  looked  out  of  the  window  where  there  was  a  mist 
of  green  and  a  thin  fountain  of  yellow,  a  Forsythia  shrub 
in  bloom,  but  he  saw  neither  the  spread  grass  nor  the 
willing  blossom.  The  fear  smote  Muffet  that  in  his 
remote  calculations  she  was  not  included,  that  having 
failed  in  a  first  attempt  they  would  never  build  together 


310  The  Heart's  Justice 

again.  Her  hand,  plucking  at  his  pillow,  shook  with 
the  message  of  her  uncertainty. 

"But  Rolf,  what  of  me  ?"  the  voice  was  so  small  that 
it  might  have  come  from  a  mechanical  doll. 

"You?"  he  queried  gently,  yet  with  a  certain  aloof- 
ness, "why  you've  always  your  father  to  keep  you  com- 
pany." 

She  blinked  a  bright  eye.  She  turned  from  the  room, 
her  pride  shrunken  together  within  her,  her  needy  love 
groping  for  its  original  object.  Then  she  remembered 
that  her  father  had  no  time  for  her  now. 


m 


"Your  father  is  a  very  remarkable  man,  my  dear!" 
Muffet  had  become  accustomed  to  hearing  it,  and  at 
first  the  words  made  a  musical  sound  in  her  ear,  like 
wind-glass  when  the  wind  is  merry.  She  basked  in 
reflected  glory,  the  great  ambition  of  her  life  was 
achieved.  But  when  love  stops  hoping,  when  its  anx- 
ieties are  at  an  end,  where  does  love  go?  It  dawned 
upon  her  at  length  that  people  had  ceased  talking  of 
Rolf,  the  praise  and  the  censure  were  at  an  end.  His 
old  laurels  were  dusty,  even  the  scandal  of  his  accident 
was  laid  away.  Yet  Rolf  was  young  and,  by  the  light 
of  new  vision,  Rolf  was  to  her  beautiful.  And  she 
would  not  have  it  so.  Her  brooding  tenderness  embraced 
him  as  he  sat  in  his  enforced  idleness,  asking  so  little 
of  anybody,  patiently  allying  himself  with  things  of 
the  spirit.  And  the  broad  shoulders,  thin  down  to  their 
framework,  the  great  useless  hands  beggared  of  their 
obligation.  She  longed  to  kneel  between  his  knees  and 


The  Heart's  Justice  311 

set  her  lips  in  the  hollow  at  the  base  of  his  throat.  She 
longed  to  rally  him  with  pledges  and  proclamations,  to 
cry  upon  him,  to  see  her  once  more  as  a  man's  possible 
mate  and  mind-spur,  to  make  her  beauty  the  tonic  it 
should  have  been.  And  because  he  did  not  know  that 
he  needed  her  she  wept  wildly  in  secret. 

Her  flesh  diminished  as  though  she  had  willed  it  to 
him,  her  eyes  were  strange  and  starlike  in  a  white  face. 
As  she  ministered  to  him  Rolf  saw  that  she  was  wraith- 
like  and  roused  himself  from  his  abstraction  long  enough 
to  say, 

"You  are  completely  worn  out  and  this  can't  go  on. 
Besides,  it's  useless.  There  is  really  nothing  to  do  for 
me.  You  invent  things  to  do  for  me." 

Whereupon  she  burst  into  a  storm  of  irrational  tears. 

"Then  take  that  little  happiness  away  from  me. 
Leave  me  nothing  to  do,  nothing  to  do.  .  .  ." 

He  was  far  from  understanding  her  when  he  said, 

"Nonsense.  You're  overworked,  I  tell  you.  You 
ought  to  go  away  from  me  and  have  a  long  rest." 

How  strange  his  stupidity;  how  strange  that  he  did 
not  know  she  was  ill  not  because  she  had  given  too 
much  of  herself  but  because  she  had  been  denied  the 
full  spendthrift  measure  of  love.  Again  she  turned  to 
her  father,  insisting  hopefully,  "There  must  still  be 
something  I  can  do  for  him,  something  I  can  share  with 
him.  Surely  success  had  not  claimed  him  altogether!" 
But  to  her  disheartenment  she  found  that  his  self -absorp- 
tion had  no  eyes  with  which  to  perceive  her  loneliness, 
no  time  for  the  dalliance  of  comradeship.  She  saw 
that  all  was  well  with  David,  and  when  she  tiptoed 
out  of  his  presence  she  knew  that  she  was  leaving  him 
for  good. 


312  The  Heart's  Justice 

IV 

Eolf,  vainly  courting  sleep  for  many  hours,  had 
resigned  himself  to  a  long  night  of  wakefulness.  It 
often  happened  that  after  a  day  of  only  mental  activity 
his  brain  kept  obstinately  trudging  like  a  pilgrim  along 
an  endless  road.  The  room  was  rayless ;  darkness  filled 
it  like  a  thick  dust  and  in  the  darkness  were  many 
thoughts.  A  man  lay  alone  in  his  solitary  consciousness, 
seeing  with  a  dreadful  clairvoyance  the  stark  aspects 
of  destiny  veiled  by  day.  Muffet  came  to  him  before 
retiring  and  did  things  to  the  bed  and  pillow,  patting 
them  to  reposeful  invitation.  And  though  she  was  lovely 
and  desirable,  he  let  her  go  again  unresistingly;  he 
asked  only  peace.  But  to-night  as  he  lay,  in  resignation 
to  his  absorbing  loneliness,  he  heard  a  sound  that  pene- 
trated like  cold  into  his  veins.  It  came  at  even  inter- 
vals, faint  and  far,  as  the  moan  of  a  disembodied  spirit, 
yet  with  a  reality  of  sorrow  behind  it.  Though  he  was 
not  an  imaginative  man  it  smote  upon  his  fancy  as  a 
sound  supernatural.  It  was  of  a  piece  with  his  sick  soul 
— he  even  hazarded  the  wild  guess  that  it  was  his  soul, 
behaving  as  he  had  known  it  to  do  during  his  days  of 
delirium. 

But  a  whiff  of  common  sense  blew  away  the  cobwebs 
of  his  brain.  Common  sense  bade  him  rise  and  investi- 
gate but  as  even  now  he  got  about  with  difficulty,  using 
a  crutch,  it  was  not  easy  for  him  to  attempt  random 
pilgrimages.  So  he  waited  patiently  for  a  voluntary 
explanation.  And  it  was  not  long  in  coming.  To  his 
surprise  the  obscurity  of  his  room  gradually  gave  place 
to  light.  He  slept  with  his  door  open  and  now,  though 
no  step  sounded  in  the  corridor,  came  a  traveling  glow, 
a  sheen  of  gold  stole  through  the  aperture. 


The  Heart's  Justice  313 

He  sat  up  in  bed,  keyed  for  a  ghostly  manifestation. 
If  it  was  a  ghost  lie  would  challenge  it.  He  preferred 
to  hope  that  it  was  a  thief.  Then  the  revelation.  The 
doorway  framed  an  apparition  the  terror  of  whose 
beauty  could  scarcely  be  imagined.  It  was  Muffet, 
sleep-walking  and  holding  a  lighted  candle  in  her  hand. 
It  was  Muffet  and  yet  inexplicably  not  Muffet  but  a 
dweller  from  the  innermost  shrine.  It  was  spirit  claim- 
ing the  dominion  of  her  unconscious  body.  Such  radi- 
ance was  upon  her  as  seemed  to  come  from  no  earthly 
source,  the  straight  folds  of  her  gown,  the  clouded  sepia 
of  her  hair,  her  very  face  appeared  to  give  forth  glow. 
Her  cheeks  with  their  chaste  modeling  were  wet  with 
tears.  At  once  Rolf  knew  that  she  was  bound  in  slum- 
ber, that  in  slumber  she  had  risen  and  lighted  the 
candle  in  her  hand. 

Awed  by  the  visitation  and  acutely  fearing  for  her, 
he  held  himself  tense.  If  she  lowered  the  candle  ever 
so  little  her  gown  would  be  in  flames.  But  the  little 
hand  stayed  steady,  like  a  hand  in  marble.  Slowly 
she  advanced  into  the  room,  sobbing  a  veiled,  myster- 
ious grief.  Though  her  eyes  were  wide  open  she  did 
not  see  him  as  she  went  through  the  pantomime  of 
search.  At  length  she  touched  the  bed  with  her  free 
hand  and,  reaching  out  cautiously,  Rolf  took  the  candle 
from  her.  She  offered  no  resistance  and  he  set  it  on 
the  table.  Only  her  eyes  were  blurred  by  endless  tears 
as  her  hands  moved  along  the  counterpane.  He 
remained  immobile,  choked  by  her  pathos,  not  wholly 
comprehending  what  had  brought  her  there.  Presently 
she  was  so  close  that  he  could  feel  her  warm  breath 
above  him  and  the  sigh  of  her  exhausted  sobs.  He 


314  The  Heart's  Justice 

could  feel  her  fingers  across  the  territory  of  his  shoul- 
ders. Half  fearful  he  looked  into  her  eyes.  They 
were  heavy  with  glaze.  But  her  warm  fingers  paused 
contented  in  contact  with  his  face.  Her  hair  hung 
over  him  in  a  drowsy  veil — she  was  assuaged  in  her 
loneliness,  caught  back  again  to  normal  slumber. 

And  Rolf  understood.  She  had  come  to  meet  him 
the  whole  way;  she  had  brought  him  a  light,  she  had 
proclaimed  herself  his  wife  and  never  a  word  spoken. 
With  pitiful,  clumsy  care  he  drew  the  blanket  about 
her — he  made  her  a  beautiful  resting-place  in  the  hollow 
of  his  arm. 


David,  letting  himself  in  earlier  than  usual  one  after- 
noon, had  Muffet  in  mind.  He  had  neglected  Muffet 
of  late  but  at  the  first  opportunity  he  was  pledged  to 
resume  his  role  of  devotion.  He  told  himself  remind- 
ingly  that  he  would  not  let  his  new  responsibilities 
and  demands  supersede  her.  He  told  himself  that  it 
was  but  one  happy  step  back  to  the  region  where  he 
had  left  her.  But  as  he  stood  in  the  deserted  hall, 
divesting  himself  of  hat  and  coat,  he  was  arrested  by 
a  conversation  taking  place  on  the  other  side  of  a  closed 
door.  It  was  Muffet  discussing  with  Vannie  the  menu 
for  the  approaching  meal. 

"But  yo'  Daddy,  he  doan  eat  dose  beef  steaks  lak 
what  he  uster,"  David  heard  the  faithful  woman  protest. 
"He  done  say  his  teef  bother  him  an'  he  done  say  he 
cain't  chew  lak  what  he  uster " 

"But  Vannie,"  it  was  Muffet's  voice  now,  taut  with 
severity,  "Mr.  Sterling  needs  red  meat  to  build  him  up. 


The  Heart's  Justice  315 

Oh,  Vannie,  do  you  remember  how  he  looked  before 
his  illness,  so  handsome  and  robust?" 

"Yas'm,  Ah  'member.  Hit  doan  seem  lak  he'd  orter 
peak  an'  pine  dissaway " 

"Oh,  Vannie,  do  you  think  we  could  tempt  him  with 
a  little  lamb  broth  ?" 

The  hand  which  David  lifted  toward  the  peg  still 
held  his  hat  and  hung  foolishly  in  midair  while  his 
faculties  strained.  Just  as  Sterling  had  once  listened 
to  the  thrilling  timbre  of  Muffet's  voice,  planning  for 
her  father,  so  David  now  read  into  the  commonplace 
dialogue  all  the  fanatical  love  of  a  woman's  life  for  its 
most  central  object. 

He  had  been  preoccupied  of  late ;  had  he  been  blind 
also?  Never  before  had  Rolf  evoked  in  his  wife  this 
tone  of  possessive  passion.  David's  ego  stirred, 
prompted  to  the  first  wild  pain  of  self-pity.  Another 
man  might  have  acceded  gracefully,  glad  that  the 
honors  were  even.  Not  so  David  Harlow.  For  no  other 
father  perhaps  had  ever  known  the  maximum  of  a 
child's  devotion.  He  had  wanted  it  all  forever  and 
ever,  insatiable  man. 

Old  Age  overtook  him  in  a  moment,  plucking  at  his 
elbow  with  its  talk  of  relinquishment  and  many  times 
he  drew  his  elbow  away.  But  at  last  he  consented  to 
listen.  And,  listening,  he  learned  something  of  the 
laws  of  compensation.  During  all  his  years  of  obscurity 
he  had  had  Muffet's  priceless  love;  he  knew  now  that 
she  had  loved  him  not  because  she  believed  him  a  genius, 
but  because  she  thought  him  a  failure.  Now  in  place 
of  Muffet's  love  he  had  this  barren  thing  men  called 
success. 


316  The  Heart's  Justice 

Even  as  she  had  loved  and  pitied  her  father  so  the 
dove-gray  devotion  of  her  breast  had  turned  toward 
Kolf,  once  the  favorite  of  fortune,  now  merely  a  patient 
young  man  who  sat  by  a  window. 

Death  had  deferred  to  accommodate  David,  but  surely 
a  man  may  say  when  his  hour  has  come.  David  Harlow 
stood  listening.  .  .  . 


THE   END 


A     000129549    2 


